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Saturday 29 May 2021


Mother, Father, please sit down;

I’ve got some news for you.

It’s quite the revelation

and I wish it were not true.

I’ve done some introspection

and I’ve analysed my mind.

I’ve fought my inclinations

but I have to be resigned 

to be the person I must be 

in order to fulfill

the destiny bestowed on me

by fate’s unbending quill. 

I know that it will cause you pain

but please try not to show it.

Mum and Dad: when I grow up

I want to be a poet.

Wednesday 26 May 2021


Some of you play football

and some others act or sing,

but if you want to moonlight

then we know of just the thing

to gain more recognition

and a bit of extra quid:

It’s really rather obvious

just write a book for kids. 

It doesn’t really matter 

if you cannot hold a pen,

nor if the typing of a word

is quite beyond your ken.

Just spew out some ideas

and we’ll come and jot them down;

we’ll stick you on the cover 

and you’ll be the toast of town.

Nor does it make a difference

if the plot is rather slight.

We’ll make the letters bigger

and put pictures left and right.

We’ll print your name in sparkles

and you’ll wear a golden crown

as kiddies crowd around your pap

and gobble it right down.

Yes we know you’re very famous 

and already have it made.

There may be better writers

and they may be poorly paid.

We pray for these unfortunates;

our thoughts, meanwhile, are thus:

we’ll make you lots of money

and you’ll make some more for us.

Sunday 23 May 2021


Today I went to my to my grandma's lovely 80th birthday bash. 80 is pretty young to be a grandmother of someone my age, and my grandma has always been like a second mum to me. An occupational hazard of being a poet is that it becomes expected for me to stand up and do a poem at this kind of event. I usually try and duck out of doing this, but this time I thought I'd better step up. Here is my grandma's 80th birthday poem:

The poem, as you can see, follows a very simple format. It uses repetition to provide structure, and the content consists of very specific memories. I encourage everyone to give this a go - the more specific the memories are, the more personal and (I think) emotionally meaningful the poem becomes. 

Sunday 9 May 2021



We have it every Friday.

We go round one by one

taking turns to say

what’s on our mind. 

Yesterday James discussed

visiting France this summer. 

Ahmad talked about his new baby sister;

Ruth spoke of her kitten. 

I said nothing. Again. 

Just stared at the swirls

on the carpet and shrugged.

Miss Ellis said I didn’t have to talk

if I didn’t want. 

And I wish I could tell them.

I wish I could explain

how Dad and Laura

fight in the night

when they think I’m sleeping. 

I wish I could talk

of that tangled twine

that tightens round my torso

when they fire those poison arrows. 

But I said nothing. Again. 

Just kept my eyes down

as that still small voice 

murmured once more

how it’s all my fault.

Monday 3 May 2021


 The Conservative government is currently mired in corruption, inadequacy and misplaced values. Firstly Boris Johnson is facing tough questions on the refurbishment of his abode. Thus:



Having been


by cronyism



and failure

I think it's

fair to say

Boris Johnson's flat.

These cretins also want to spunk much wonga on a new boat for her madge. I don't like this idea. Hence:


I am nacht 

Too hacht 

On the Royal yacht;

I dislike the idea

A lacht.

Up the workers! Solidarity!