Just Plain Weird

Say what you want about MAGA Republicans... at the end of the day, they're just, plain, weirrrrrd. (Some references in this poem might seem a little, erm, esoteric. Look em up.)

JUST PLAIN WEIRD

Lecter obsession

Convicted, not cleared

Orange complexion –  

Just plain weird.

Mountain Dew

Little beard

Couches and dolphins – 

Just plain weird.

Confederate flags

Easily steered

Pads on the ears – 

Just plain weird.

Very odd people

Not to be feared

Going to lose…

and just plain weird.

Joshua Seigal

Experiential Learning

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

Fantasitc poems from Primrose Class!

A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of leading a poetry workshop on Zoom, with the wonderful Primrose Class. Their teacher subsequently got in touch to ask if I would take a look at a poetry book that the class had made. I was delighted when it popped through my front door this morning. I can tell how hard the pupils worked on their poems, and it's my great pleasure to be able to share a selection on my blog. Enjoy!!

I Cannot Write a Poem

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.

Joshua Seigal  

Uncle Ian's Car

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

Summer

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