My chicken’s strutting round the place
as though she owns the farm.
She puffs her chest and flaps her wings
with self-regarding smarm.
She scorns the goat, condemns the cow
and disrespects the pig.
My chicken’s full of arrogance –
her eggo’s rather big.
Joshua Seigal
I was really excited to be told that my visit to Oxford Gardens Primary School, London, would be featured on the BBC News! The visit was to promote the Young Poet Laureate Programme, which I have been working on in collaboration with the National Literacy Trust and the National Poetry Centre. The people from the BBC said it would be OK for me to film my segment and stick it up on this here blog of mine, so that is what I've done. I hope you enjoy it. Hi Mum!!!
Sometimes no other
words are needed.
No scuba diving
into the unconscious,
no scrambling after
rationalisations, metaphors,
symbols. And sometimes
no challenge is necessary –
no contrived interlocutors,
no make-believe bullies
to pin down onto the mat.
Everything is –
it’s not going away.
And fear’s at the feast.
And that’s OK.
Joshua Seigal
It’s funny, isn’t it, how life
can feel like its very opposite.
Life is change, and change
is the death of what went before.
So life can feel like death.
And a life sentence can feel like a death sentence.
Take having a baby. Why does it feel
like the act of bringing new life
into the world is the act of killing the self?
Is this a good thing? Was it a self
that needed to die
so that it could be reborn into a bigger self,
a self that encompasses more love,
a self that lives all the more?
Perhaps death must occur in order that life
be more fully actualised… I think of all this
as I watch your face.
Your amazing, beautiful face.
A thousand lives behind those eyes.
To Life! Let us live.
And let us die so that we may live all the more.
Joshua Seigal
there are blizzards in the kitchen.
Plates pile up on the surfaces
as gusts haul the door shut.
And there’s drought in the bathroom.
Water flows through unseen pipes –
too deep to be gathered –
whilst in the living room monsoons soak
the books, get into the circuitry of the TV.
Rain persecutes the window.
And the bedroom? The bedroom is a desert.
I traverse the blazing dunes alone now,
sand catching in my throat.
I’ve got all this mud on my trousers
from when I did a sliding tackle in the field
at breaktime. Sam said it was a foul
and James sent me off. Who even allowed
James to be ref anyway? You can’t be ref
and play in the match, that makes no sense.
The score ended up 7-5, but we’ll carry on
the game at lunch. And I’ve got this scab
which is really annoying. I really don’t understand
the maths homework but I don’t want to ask Mum
for help again, she might think I’m stupid.
If she doesn’t already. Yesterday we went
on a trip to the zoo. I’ve been there millions
of times before so it wasn’t that interesting.
Apart from the lemurs, I always like looking
at the lemurs. I think all the lemurs at the zoo
are female. Or male. I can’t remember. Anyway,
this mud on my trousers is really annoying,
and the scab is starting to bleed from where
I’ve been picking it. Joel catches my eye
and gives a smirk. Who is this idiot in front of us?
He seems like he thinks he’s funny.
Some kind of comedian. I Don’t Like Poetry?
Yeah, you’re right, dude. I don’t.
Joshua Seigal
In the beginning
was the Word
so I guess that means
I’ve found
my great-great-great-great-grammar.
Never make a cuppa
from the eucalyptus tree –
I must conclude,
it’s leaves, when brewed
are poor koala-tea.
Joshua Seigal
I go to the pub
and I don’t like the drinks –
the ale’s all watery.
Frankly, it stinks.
It’s fake and synthetic –
to hell with the lot!
A faux beer phobia –
that’s what I’ve got.
Joshua Seigal
