I received some lovely letters!

Last week I gave a performance for hundreds of children and their teachers at the Wandworth Civic Suite. This was part of the fantastic Barnes Children's Literature Festival, and by my estimation was the FOURTH time I have performaed at this festival. I must be doing something right, as they keep inviting me back.

One of the teachers present, Mrs. Atkin, got in touch with a selection of letters and drawings done by her amazing Year 3 class at West Hill Primary School. I love receiving things like this, and I am really excited to be able to share a selection on my blog!

Firstly, we have a picture of a bear and a lemur. I talk a lot about animals during my performances, and bears and lemurs feature quite heavily:

I also got several lovely thank you letters, lots of which mention my cat Bluebell, who also features prominently in my performances. (Not literally - I don't bring her, I just talk about her!)

And finally, here is a picture of me onstage. You can see Bluebell in the background; I think I drew a picture of her as part of the performance. 

MUG

I’d lick the slime from a garden slug,

approach a bear for a cosy hug,

fight a weapon-wielding thug,

but I won’t drink my coffee

from an Arsenal mug.

I’d step bare-footed on a plug,

inhale the fluff from the living room rug,

take a diuretic drug

but I won’t drink my coffee

from an Arsenal mug.

I’d share my bathtub with a pug,

yes set me a challenge and I’m feeling smug,

there isn’t much that I wouldn’t chug

but I WON’T drink my coffee

from an Arsenal mug!

AAARRRGGGGHHHHH!

Nothing Must Remain

Eventually he came to the conclusion

that he had too many books.

He put some on the wall outside.

The next day they were gone.

It felt good – he liked the thought

that he had passed something on.

He went through his shelves for more books,

putting them outside and grinning

as the stack on the wall began to go down.

By the end of the week it had disappered.

He had given his books away, and it felt good.

He ransacked his wardrobe,

gathering all the clothes he reckoned 

he could do without. He put them outside

and the next day they too had been removed.

Even the pants with holes in.

What need have I for clothes? he declared

as, naked, he placed the last of his garments

outside. He felt good in his nakedness,

and he basked in the thought

that others now wore what once was his.

Next came the plates, knives, forks –

all the kitchen utensils, out on the street.

Neighbours trickled by to come

and get them. He hauled the pictures

off the walls, the covers off the bed.

He plucked out his teeth and shaved his head

until finally he stood screaming gummily

outside his newly relinquished home:

Nothing must remain!

And they came to take him away.

And it felt good. It felt good.

Joshua Seigal

MORE (for schools, and pupils)

We’re more than just a number

We’re more than just a grade

We’re more than just the ‘outcome’

As we’re measured, probed and weighed

We’re more than sets of data

We’re more than means to ends

We’re more than just receptacles

For all their latest trends

We’re hopes and dreams

And silent screams

We’re love and pain

And sun and rain

We give our heart

We give our art

We nourish, nurture and sustain.

We’re more than just a letter

We’re more than just a test 

We’re more than pinpoints on a line

That runs from ‘worst’ to ‘best’

We’re more than someone’s judgment 

We’re more than what they think

We’re more than what they rashly write

In streams of scathing ink

With courage, care

And flash and flare

In rainbow light

And spacious night

We give our blood

And through the mud

We proudly march. We stand and fight.

Joshua Seigal

UNICORN POO (a very silly poem)

UNICORN POO

Unicorn poo! Unicorn poo! 

What kind of poo does a unicorn do?

Is it burnished like bronze? Is it gloopy like glue?

Oh what kind of poo does a unicorn do?

Does it gleam like a diamond,

all glistening white?

Does is radiate rainbows

and emanate light?

Is it red, green and orange

or purple and blue?

Oh what kind of poo does a unicorn do?

Does it spiral and curl

like the finest ice cream?

Does it float like a spaceship

as though in a dream?

Does it swallow your house?

Does it fit in your shoe?

Oh what kind of poo does a unicorn do?

Unicorn poo! Unicorn poo!

What kind of poo does a unicorn do?

Does it drip like a raindrop or savagely spew?

Oh what kind of poo does a unicorn do?

Does it glow in the dark?

Is it found in the park?

Is it dirty like sludge?

Is it tasty like fudge?

Does it rush like a river

or slowly accrue?

Oh what kind of poo does a unicorn do?

Does it bounce like a ball?

Is it smelly at all?

Does it really repulse

or inspire and enthrall?

Is it flat like a pancake

or terribly tall?

If you chucked it about

would it stick to the wall?

Unicorn poo! Unicorn poo!

What kind of poo does a unicorn do?

There’s one in my garden, so come form a queue

to look at my magical UNICORN POO!

OLD GEEZERS IN BAND T-SHIRTS

See them stooped on crowded buses,

Slayer slathered on their back. 

Watch them as they queue in Tesco,

grey of hair and garbed in black.

Spy them as they stand in Camden 

clinging hard to distant days, 

Buzzcocks bulging on their belly,

boyhoods fading through the haze.

Pogo proudly, grizzled grandad!

Raise your glasses to the scene!

Even as the light is dying,

rage against that time machine.

Joshua Seigal