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

Sunday, 27 February 2022

I AM A COWARD

In a famous poem, Seamus Heaney

once compared his pen to a gun. Well

this may be true for certain literary behemoths

but for me it’s not. I am a coward. My pen


is what I use in the suspicion that I could

never wield proper arms. I’d run away,

notepad in hand, at the first sign of the guns.

Crammed into trains crossing borders, I might


jot down a few hollow words, but not as empty

as the ones I’m writing now, blue sky outside

the window, mug of hot coffee in hand. I am

a coward. I can’t confront the thought of my own


nonexistence. Perhaps this is why I write

in the first place, so something survives me

when I’m gone. No, my pen is not a gun.

A gun is a gun. My pen is a pen. And a poem


is nothing more than a white flag in the wind.


Wednesday, 23 February 2022

a fun new poem based on no one in particular

BADDIE


I’m in my lair, I stroke my cat 

My pupils blaze beneath my hat

I’m really quite the autocrat

What am I?

I’m a baddie.


With minions primed for dirty deeds

And jets at supersonic speeds

My brain is where corruption breeds

What am I?

I’m a baddie


I lurk in shadows, rant and rave

I subjugate, ensnare, enslave

I’ll carry evil to the grave

What am I?

I’m a baddie.


But deep within my fearsome shell

You’ll spy a little child dwell

That’s why I scream, that’s why I yell

What am I?

I’m a BADDIE.


Monday, 21 February 2022

Excellent Poems from North Newton Primary School, Somerset

Year 5 & 6 pupils at North Newton Primary School in Somerset have been looking at my poem 'Don't Get Me Started', and writing their own versions! Their Teaching Assistant, Ms. Larcombe, recently got in touch to share some of the results, and I am delighted to be able to publish a selection of their fantastic poetry on my blog. A huge well done to all involved. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

Don’t make it happen. by Tom


When your Mum turns off the TV

When the switch controller dies

When you step in slush at flip out

Don’t make it happen.


When juice goes on your clean clothes

When the Pringles get broken

When you stub your toe against a door

Don’t make it happen.


When your cereal goes very soggy

When sand gets in your eyes

When a motor bike goes past at night

Don’t make it happen.


This is what annoys me by Layla


When your work is on display

When you’re lost for words to say

When you don’t know what to play-

This is what annoys me.


When your work is not complete

When Lego gets stuck on your feet

When you cannot chew your meat-

This is what annoys me.


When siblings eat your favorite food

When you're desperate for the loo

When the sky is grey not blue-

This is what annoys me.


When my phone has one percent

When I don’t know what they meant-

When poems don’t have any rhythm.


Never do this!!! by Rosanna

When people chew their sleeves at school

When people wee in the swimming pool

When people pretend to act so cool

Never do this!!!


When people don’t use their brain

When people don’t board their plane

When its non-stop rain

Never do this!!!


When you drop your phone in a puddle

When dogs must wear a muzzle

When I can't finish a puzzle

Never do this!!!


When you get stung by a black bee

When you have to count to three

When I forget my keys

Never do this!!!

Sunday, 20 February 2022

THE BOOKS

tell us how to live. 

Hundreds and hundreds of books

in the ‘Self Help’ section. 

Some of the books

have words like ‘rules’ in the title – 


‘The Rules for Life’;

‘The Rules for Relationships’.

Every author thinks they know the rules 

and that, with time and money,

we can learn the rules too. 


Without our time and money

we won’t know how to live. 

The books tell us we’re not happy, 

whether we know it or not. 

We need the books to put it right.


Some of the books disagree with each other;

some of the rules are in conflict. 

Perhaps we need to read all the books

to make up our own minds.

The authors would like that. 


Or perhaps we need to start

writing our own books.

Perhaps, with every step

through this story we call life,

we already are.


Tuesday, 15 February 2022

CONSUMER

She feasts on fedoras and espadrille shoes.

Platefuls of peplum are what she would choose.


Her favourite dinner is knickers with chips. 

Anorak pie has her smacking her lips. 


Ball gowns and bathing suits, corsets and clogs; 

she radiates glee as she gobbles her togs.


Eating her clothing is truly a passion – 

my sister possesses a great taste in fashion.

Monday, 14 February 2022

LEVELLED UP POEM

This poem has nomenclature

augmented in its quality.

Its sheer linguistic efficacy’s

grasped throughout the polity.

For every word that it could use

a finer one’s been substituted,

and, you see, the net result

is something that is convoluted.


Sometimes plainer speaking

is the way to say your bit:

Just because it’s ‘Levelled Up’,

don’t mean it isn’t shit.


Wednesday, 9 February 2022

YOU WOULDN'T SQUASH AN ELEPHANT

You wouldn’t squash an elephant

or trample on a dog.

You wouldn’t biff a buffalo

or pull apart a hog. 


You wouldn’t mash a marmoset

or mangle a koala. 

You wouldn’t pulp a panda

or extinguish an impala. 


You wouldn’t crush a crocodile 

or maim a chimpanzee.

You wouldn’t macerate a moose

or mush a manatee.


You wouldn’t pulp a porcupine

or step on a baboon.

You wouldn’t mutilate a duck

or wreck a poor raccoon. 


You wouldn’t do these nasty things,

so sometime tell me why

some people think it’s quite OK

to squish a little fly...


Monday, 7 February 2022

LEFT FIELD

I’ve got a new mate.

He’s the greatest of all.

He hangs upside down

as I toss him a ball.

His echolocation

is second to none. 

We practice our game

and we have lots of fun.


I throw him a pitch

and he’s able to swing. 

At hitting home runs

he’s undoubtedly king.

He swoops and he circles

in three seconds flat – 

I think I’ve been blessed

with the best baseball bat.


Thursday, 3 February 2022

The Poetry Journal

said they were looking for poetry with a spark, with an edge, that got them thinking and feeling and perhaps even coming all at the same time. They said they were trying to push boundaries, to break the mould, to smash the glass ceiling, to go not just outside the box but to hoof the box itself far into the distance. They said they wanted poetry to come alive in their guts and to punch its way up through their face like a flowering fist of sonic righteousness. They said they wanted poetry both liquid and electric. I don’t know if this poem is any of these things. It’s about my grandfather and the fact he doesn’t have long to live. He’s eighty-six, so I suppose it’s about that soft commingling of sadness and necessity. And it’s about, I guess, how nothing can make anyone or anything live forever. Not even poetry