There’s a lemur on my lunchbox,
a bonobo on my book;
there’s a snake inside my pencil case –
just come and have a look!
There’s a rhino on my rucksack
and a chimp upon my chair;
there’s a panther with my paper
prowling proudly to its lair.
A chinchilla nabbed my dinner;
an alpaca my protractor!
A hyena, looking meaner,
got so close I nearly whacked her!
There’s a tiger on my tabletop
(I promise you it’s true)
and a cheetah ate my teacher
in our lesson at the zoo.
Joshua Seigal
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.
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
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
(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
THOSE REFORM UK CANDIDATES IN FULL
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
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
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
For Rishi Sunak, on D-Day
He was present at Winchester, swanning about
He was present at Oxford, of that there’s no doubt
He was present at Stanford, displaying great flair
But when it mattered, he wasn’t there
He was present in Finances, hoovering cash
He was present in Richmond, with verve and with flash
He was present and wed to a billionaire
But when it mattered, he wasn’t there
He was present in Covid, Eat Out to Help Out
He did battle with Truss and emerged with great clout
He was present as leader and looked debonnaire
But when it mattered, he wasn’t there
He was present at Downing Street, soaked as a rat
He chips in with his thoughts about this, about that
See, the man is a fan of publicity’s glare
But when it mattered… he wasn’t there
Joshua Seigal
a poem. Basically, I don’t know what I’m doing,
but I know part of what I want – I want all concerned
to think the experience worthwhile.
I want some sort of shape, but I don’t want it
to be determined by what has gone before, or
the preconceptions of others. I put hard work into it,
and I want it to sing. I don’t want too many awkward
allusions that few will grasp, but I always know
there will be a portion of people who don’t get it
anyway. It’s written partly for writing’s sake. And
this perhaps is the crucial thing: sometimes I need
a break.
Joshua Seigal
Somewhere,
perhaps in a bedroom across the world,
sits a boy as scared as me.
He doesn’t know me
and I don’t know him,
but I’m sure he’s there.
His brow is sweaty just like mine,
and as with me, tears prick at his eyes.
I can’t tell my parents
and he can’t tell his.
We are each alone,
yet connected in our fear.
I stretch out my arm
around this planet we call home,
and I hold the boy’s hand.
I feel its warmth, its grip.
I feel his blood pumping.
He doesn’t know me
and I don’t know him,
yet here we are,
holding each other’s loneliness.
Joshua Seigal
While you’re out I clean the kitchen.
I put away the saucepans, wash the spoons,
and wipe the surfaces over and over.
I want the room clean for when you get home.
As I scrub the counter I picture the inside
of my own mind, wishing I could clean it up –
each swish of the cloth a cleansing
of my own thoughts, my own failings.
When you get home I want it all to be OK.
I want us to be OK. I want our life to be clean.
And so I take the cloth and I wipe the surface.
It’s my way of trying to say I love you.
Joshua Seigal
You by Emiliano
You are my sun,
Bright and beautiful
You are my space station,
Open minded and free
You are a pillow,
Soft and cuddly
You are my T-shirt
Who follows me and is attached to me
You are my bag,
You always have my back
You are my water,
Crystal and special
You are my laptop,
Entertaining and bright
You by Marco
You are my computer,
Entertaining my every day
You are my plushie,
I cuddle you all the time
You are my console,
I always look forward to my time with you
You are my chocolate cake
Keeping me happy and joyful
You are my bed,
Always keeping me warm
You are a superhero ,
You brighten up my day
You are my dog,
My dog!
That One Guy by Samuel
That one guy in class
Always naughty
Always making a fuss
Always making fun of teacher in class
That one guy
At break is really weird
Always does the opposite
Of what you say
That one guy
At worship
He says roses are red
Violets are blue
I don’t like you
He chooses to be proud of himself and cool
That one guy
At the end of the day
Is always in trouble
Monday to Friday
Seriously, he grumbles
That one guy
That one guy is me.
Walking
Go for a walk, they say.
Keep moving. Keep active.
The problem is
my mind is always moving;
my brain is always active.
I’m always walking inside my own head.
Step after step after step.
See,
maybe I need to slow down.
Maybe we need to stop walking.
Joshua Seigal