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Tuesday 16 July 2024

I Cannot Write a Poem

I cannot write a poem. 

It’s something I can’t do. 

To say I am incapable

is definitely true. 

I do not have proficiency. 

I lack the brains and skill. 

Whenever I sit down to type

it always goes downhill. 

Yes, poetry’s beyond me. 

Ineptitude’s my curse. 

I can’t create a simple rhyme

or write a single verse. 

I frankly cannot do it,

however hard I try. 

I didn’t write this poem – 

it was written by AI.

Joshua Seigal  

Monday 15 July 2024

Uncle Ian's Car

Dad wakes me up in the middle of the night. 

He hoists me out of bed. We go outside. 

Uncle Ian has a new car. 

He sits me in the driver’s seat. 

That’s the gear stick. There’s the clutch. 

He isn’t sure what this button does.

Later that night, I lie in bed. 

Ian and Dad, they’re talking downstairs. 

Slowly, softly, sleep takes over – 

I’m driving on rainbows,

the clouds in my hair.

Joshua Seigal

Tuesday 9 July 2024


I wake up, and the cat

is lying on my wife’s head.

It’s 5am, and they’re lying there,

both asleep, my wife’s hair

in her face and the cat curled up.

Life doesn’t get much better than this –

the dawn sun stretching her arms wide,

and those gentle breaths beside me,

exhaling nothing but love.

Joshua Seigal

Friday 21 June 2024


(Tories face betting scandals, June 2024) 

Did they ruin the nation? YOU BET!

Was there huge devastation? YOU BET!

Did they cause conflagration

And lethal mutation

Throughout their duration? YOU BET!

Did they lie, cheat and steal? YOU BET!
Was their rule an ordeal? YOU BET!
Did their tenure reveal 

A sleaze so unreal

We’ll reject them with zeal? YOU BET!

Are they on their way out? YOU BET!
Have they lost all their clout? YOU BET!
Will it soon come about

That they’re facing a rout?

Let us all give a shout of YOU BET!

Joshua Seigal 

Wednesday 19 June 2024

Reform UK - list of candidates

Has your Reform UK candidate ever done or said anything dodgy? Why not have a look through is abercedarian poem, and find out!


A is for Andy who once kicked a dog 

B is for Brenda, a true demagogue

C is for Charlie who liked racist tweets

D is for Dave, spreading hate in the streets

E is for Ethel who praised the SS

F is for Fred, in blackface fancy dress

G is for George, saying ‘Hitler was right’

H is for Herbert who isn’t that bright

I is for Ian, who once smacked a kitten

J is for Jack – you should see what he’s written!

K is for Kate, who blames boats for her woes

L is for Liam in Sieg Heil pose

M is for Martin who hates immigration

N is for Norman who fights for his nation

O is for Oliver, red in the face

P is for Polly who’s saving her race

Q is for Quentin who screamed ‘Communist!’ 

R is for Robbie who always seems pissed

S is for Simon who once slapped a sheep 

T is for Tom, cursing Blacks in his sleep 

U is for Ursula, reading the Mail 

V is for Vince, shouting ‘Throw them in jail!’ 

W is Wally, who once punched a moose

X is a bloke shouting ‘Bring back the noose!’

Y is Yvonne, drowning cats in a lake 

Z is for Zainab who joined by mistake

Joshua Seigal 

Tuesday 11 June 2024


It’s written in books that

in order to find yourself

you need to cut yourself off,

to leave and to go out into the wild,

on your own. 

I’ve found that the opposite is true:

I’ve only known myself since I started loving you. 

To find myself is to know

what it means to love,

with its vines of messy, knotted imperfection.

I couldn’t do this by myself.

For what is the self but love?

And what is love but a tangled bridge

between two arid shores?

Joshua Seigal 

Monday 10 June 2024

The Food Of Love

You’re a great cook, but tonight the food

looks like sick. It looks like sick and smells

like sick. I can barely bring myself to put the spoon

into the bowl. This is not your fault;

anxiety does this to me. On better days 

your food is restaurant-quality. I devour it like

I’m consuming the fruits of love itself. But tonight

it looks like sick. I’ll eat it slowly, tenatively,

like I’m feeding my lost self back into myself,

the self that feels sick, because that’s really

what this is – it’s not about you, it’s about me, 

the way love can turn my stomach both that way

and this. Either way, you are great – my lost self

surely knows it. And you’re a great cook,

even though tonight the food, well, looks like sick.

Joshua Seigal