For lots more exciting info about me, please go to my main home - www.joshuaseigal.co.uk

Tuesday, 16 July 2019

STUMP

she is outside again with her plastic watering can, watering the stump. I've told her any number of times that the tree is dead, that stumps don't grow but still she is outside, her smile like a rainbow, and she tells me that without the rain we'll never know.

Image result for STUMP

Thursday, 11 July 2019

Tuesday, 2 July 2019

NEW POEM - 'MONKEY OFF MY BACK'

This poem sadly didn't make the cut for my latest, forthcoming book (Jan 2020). However, it is a catchy performance piece about, well, anxiety, and I thought it deserves a bit of an airing. So here goes. Enjoy!

MONKEY OFF MY BACK

Monkey off my back!
Monkey off my back!
Gotta get the
Gotta get the
Monkey off my back!

No matter where I try to go
the monkey comes with me.
He wraps his legs around me
like he's hanging from a tree.
He throws things at my teachers
and he bellows at my friends.
I need to make him go away!
I need to make amends.

Monkey off my back!
Monkey off my back!
Gotta get the
Gotta get the
Monkey off my back!

The monkey shares a bed with me,
he has his own pyjamas.
He makes my bedroom dirty
with the skins of old bananas.
My parents kicked me out the house,
the monkey made them cross.
I’m desperate to get rid of him,
he needs to know who’s boss.

Monkey off my back!
Monkey off my back!
Gotta get the
Gotta get the
Monkey off my back!

The monkey’s getting cumbersome.
He’s really quite a weight!
He’s hairy and he’s smelly
and he makes me feel irate.
He doesn’t even let up
when I’m sitting on the loo.
My heart feels like a jungle
and my head feels like a zoo!

Monkey off my back!
Monkey off my back!
Gotta get the
Gotta get the

MONKEY OFF MY BACK!

Image result for monkey on my back

Monday, 1 July 2019

FAMILY TREE

In the autumn we take a trip
to visit my grandma’s favourite tree. 
“It’s been there ever since I was 
a little girl” she says. 

Her tree is alone in the middle of a field
by the side of the road we always drive down
every time we come around
on our journey up from London. 

Its once green leaves now crusty brown
with skeleton branches poking through,
its trunk stands firm and tall and proud
in the face of the changing seasons. 

In the autumn we take a trip
to visit my grandma’s favourite tree. 
It is not dead, though it seems to be;
it knows that summer will come again.