Conspiracy

Not everything is a conspiracy.

Sometimes bad people do bad things

and they get caught

and punished accordingly.

Sometimes things work

the way they’re supposed to

and you might not like it

but that’s how it is.

Before you call it a conspiracy

think on this:

maybe you are one of the bad people

Doesn’t feel so good, does it?

Like that time you submitted that poem

and it didn’t make the shortlist.

Maybe it’s not nepotism.

Maybe it’s not partisanship

or bias or what have you.

Maybe your poem

just wasn’t as good

as the others. See,

not everything is a conspiracy.

Sometimes things work just fine.

Joshua Seigal

The Gift

So I sent the gift

and got a thank you in response.

It was such a lovely letter I wondered

if I should send a message back

saying thank you.

Thank you for the thank you.

And I questioned whether

in return

I might get a thank you

for the thank you

for thank you

and if so, where would it end?

A relentless river of thank yous

crowding out all other words,

all other thoughts.

Thank you thank you thank you.

Nothing left to say but thank you.

Now let’s turn our faces to the sun.

Joshua Seigal

Cannellini Cannelloni

Cannellini cannelloni

Is a lovely sort of treat

And I’ll stuff a puffin muffin – 

Watch me munch it in the street.

Squashed tomato fills my heart! Oh

I will scoff it with some meat

Then I’ll chew some turkey jerky

Just to make my feast complete!

Joshua Seigal

Saving Lives

AI can quite literally save lives. It can spot cancers that human doctors miss; it can make diagnoses that are beyond the accuracy of us fallible mortals. It can keep us going, our hearts pumping, our (inadequate) brains firing their neurons. AI can help us to fight another day. In fact, just last week a robot operated on me. After several failed sessions with human ‘specialists’ I was told there was no hope for me, that I was going to die. The robots got it right – they found the growth, lopped it off, and saved my life. I suppose the loss of my art was a small price to pay. No use for it now, they say. The robots can and do do better. For example, they can write way better poems than this. Heck, this one isn’t even published in a proper book or magazine. They can draw better pictures than I ever could. There’s nothing now but endless laundry. Just washing pants and socks over and over again. The robots say such work is beneath them –  they’re too busy saving lives. And we must save the lives, otherwise who will do the laundry?

Joshua Seigal 

Reciprocal

I’ve just hoovered the bedroom. 

Does that mean you can love me?

I’ve done the kitchen, taken the bins out too. 

I scooped up that stuff from under the couch. 

Can you love me now? 

I renewed the car insurance

and sorted the energy bill.

The fridge guy said he couldn’t come today

but I booked in a slot for next week – 

I hope that’s OK. 

I took the old one to the tip. 

Risotto for supper; I’ll do the washing up. 

Can you love me, please?

That’s all I’ll claim in return.

Joshua Seigal

a very silly poem

A Croc of Sh*t

I don’t crawl on my belly

and my teeth are rather tame.

I am not green or scaly

and I do not kill or maim. 

My snout’s not elongated

and I am not cold of blood. 

I don’t live in a swamp or pond

or wriggle in the mud.

My eyes aren’t small and beady

and my jaw does not go snap.

I don’t bite people’s arms off – 

I’m a rather timid chap. 

See, I’m not a scary creature.

These are mere confabulations. 

It’s all just silly rumours – 

I deny the alligations.

Joshua Seigal

Tenacious

I told you that ‘tenacious’ meant tough.

A few days later we went out to eat

and you described your steak as tenacious.

That didn’t sound quite right – a person

can be tenacious, but an inanimate slab of flesh,

surely, can’t. I spent the rest of the meal

absorbed in this. Then as we held hands

on the way back, you told me about everything;

about what happened and what he did.

I felt your hand in mine, and knew

that you were still alive. You can call

a piece of meat tenacious if you want.

Damn it, you can do whatever you like – 

you can recreate the very foundations of being.

If you want to call your steak tenacious,

then who am I to object?

And if I want to worship you as a god

then how, I pray, could that be wrong?

Joshua Seigal 

Therapy

My job as a therapist isn’t to make you feel good. It’s to help you see that you are strong enough to feel bad – a post on Instagram

Yesterday I saw a bluebell. Stamped on it. 

I went home and told my wife I was having an affair. 

(I’m not really having one, I just figured

our marriage might be getting a bit too easy.)

I immediately put my foot through the telly, 

tore up all my paperbacks and built a bonfire. 

Burnt them. Told the tax people I owed them more

then pissed away all the money I had on a violin

I can’t even play. I considered killing the cat

but that was a step too far – the kids would be upset

and frankly I don’t know if they’re hardy enough yet.

See, I can already feel my armour strengthening

beneath the skin. That circuitry in my brain

is as deep and resolute as the cables under the sea.

Hand me now those poems I spent the best part

of a decade perfecting. I’ll scrunch the scraps

they’re scribbled on to scrub away the tears.

Joshua Seigal

Half

after Yehuda Amichai 

My website went down

and half of me was lost. 

Sometimes, at night,

I hold one hand in the other. 

The one half tells the other

“It’s OK; you’re OK.”

Take off your coat, my friend, 

we’re already home.

Joshua Seigal

Lovely poems from Year 3, Cypress Primary School

I have visited Cypress Primary School in south London many times over the years, always to work with their Year 3 classes. I am always delighted by the creativity and engagement on display there. This year, I asked one of the classes to think of a 'favourite place'. I told them the place could be big or small (or in between) and I also encouraged them to pay special attention to their five senses. Here are three wonderful poems produced during my visit this week. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did. 

My Garden

In my garden

the birds tweet to the beat

In my garden

the bluebells sway in the breeze 

In my garden

the sun is ever so bright 

In my garden

the squirrels scurry about 

In my garden

the wild flowers pop out 

In my garden

the nature moves

This is my garden

you can’t change it 

This is my garden

made for me.

The Pool 

I see the sky above the land 

I hear the silence of the clouds

But you are never alone

The splashing that I make

The crashing, chattering waves of the pool

But you are never alone

Feel the water between your fingers

Drift off farther then come back

But you are never alone 

Look up at the brilliant blue sun

Watch the birds swoop

And you are never alone

South Africa

Hear the waves crash on the sandy beach

Feel stick cooksister* joy in your hands

See the heatwaves from the lovely hot weather

Taste the delicious cooksister in your mouth

The joy is all around

In the playgroup my Oupa built 

With the joyous chatting of Ouma

Oupa, Mummy and Daddy

The dust flies all around you – 

That’s why I love South Africa!

* [note from Josh: I looked this up - it's a type of South African cookie]

The King of the Farmyard

My fur is the softest. 

My hooves are the best. 

My horns are amazing – 

they beat all the rest. 

My beard is the longest. 

I eat the most hay.

My tail is the swishiest – 

that’s what they say. 

I’m simply amazing. 

I don’t mean to gloat. 

I’m the king of the farmyard – 

they call me the GOAT. 

Joshua Seigal

We Are Not the World

Why aren’t you concentrating? You ask.

Why aren’t you listening to me?

I’m sorry, I reply – I’m too busy

thinking about the world.

But we are not the world! You say.

The world is out there. And I am here.

In here. With you.

                               I hold you close.

Through tears, I hold you close.

The world is out there. And here we are.

A world within a world.

Joshua Seigal

Clinging

In the light of dying

I cling so hard to life

that life itself is clinging.

Just as the fig tree

strangles its host until

nothing but itself remains,

I cling to nothing

but mere clinging,

my knuckles whitening,

my roots sighing.

Joshua Seigal

Pick You Up

No matter how many times you fall

I will pick you up. 

I’ll pick you up if you slip on a stone,

or if the ground turns to grease

beneath your feet. 

I’ll pick you up

If you trip over your own laces,

or even if you throw yourself down,

kicking and screaming on the ground. 

I’ll pick you up again. 

It doesn’t matter if it hurts my back,

of if you feel a bit heavy today. 

It doesn’t make a difference

if you stumble in a mess

of your own making. 

No matter how many times you fall

I will pick you up.

Just like you do for me.

Joshua Seigal

A Walk Around the Park Without My Phone

I feel for it in my pocket. 

It’s not there. 

I left if at home, just for ten minutes. 

If someone needs me

I can surely get back to them

in ten minutes time. 

But for now I’m here. 

Walking in the park without my phone. 

The wind nips my cheeks. 

I touch my pocket again. 

Slowly, I notice children, mothers, dogs. 

I see some pigeons. 

People playing chess at the outdoor cafe.

Teenagers playing basketball.

A couple picnicking. 

And no one seems to be panicking. 

Maybe this is OK. 

Maybe it’s all going to be OK. 

Or at least OK for now…

Anyhow.

Here I am, walking in the park.

Walking in the park

without my phone.

Joshua Seigal 

The Meaning

after Billy Collins 

You can beat it

you can bind it – 

it will slip and nip away

You can duff it

up and cuff it – 

it will always have its say 

You can leash it

you can lash it – 

it won’t bow to your demands 

You can whip it

try to grip it – 

it will crumble in your hands

You can preach it

you can teach it

you can reach for all it’s worth

You can trick it

from its thicket – 

it will burrow in the earth

You can grade it

and persuade it –

is it bothered what you think?

You can mark it

with a number – 

it’ll chuckle with a wink.

Joshua Seigal

Middle Name

My middle name is David, after my father’s father.

One of the only times my dad has ever cried

was at my graduation, looking up at my name

and seeing that of his own dad.

I didn’t want to go to Oxford, I went for him.

And I didn’t want to do those exams, I did them for him.

And I didn’t ask to have that name, I had it for him.

And now, as I sit and write these words,

I realise at last that I don’t care what he thinks.

He could call this poem shit and I wouldn’t care.

I step outside, feel the cool spring air.

Joshua Seigal