Valentine's Day FOOD POEMS

I was delighted to visit South Camberley Primary School yesterday. We did an activity I am very fond of: writing love poems...to food! I thought I'd take the opportunity to share a few of these poems, which are of course particularly pertinent with its being Valentine's Day today. Enjoy!

Woman With a Baby

As the bus approaches its stop I notice

a woman holding a baby. She cradles it

carefully, shielding it from the rain. She looks

at it lovingly, tenderly – nothing will harm

her baby. We get a little closer and I can

see that the thing she is holding is too small

to be an infant. A puppy, perhaps? A kitten?

Her smile is soft, her gaze aglow. But no –

yet closer inspection reveals the object to be

neither flesh nor blood: she’s cradling

a phone. The woman at the bus stop

is cradling her phone. She gets on the bus,

stepping up with deliberation – careful,

slow. She takes the seat next to mine.

The microchips glisten at the back of her eyes.

Joshua Seigal 

Question Marks?

I like to use the question mark?

I just can’t seem to stop?

It is a little habit

that I cannot ever drop?

No sentence is complete for me

unless I lob some in??

Whenever I put question marks

I break out in a grin??

You may not think it necessary???

Well, I disagree???

A stanza full of question marks

is what I like to see???

Some people think I’m crazy

but they’d better not complain????

At least I’m speaking English

and I do not live in ¿¿¿¿Spain????

Joshua Seigal 

Knowledge

Yesterday my wife said

that she thought a bull

was a female cow. I wondered

how she could have gone

her whole life thinking this.

How is it possible to live

for thirty years on this planet

and think a bull is a female cow?

But I guess we all know

different things; I know

a bull is male, and she knows

what she knows – things that

no one ever should have to.

Joshua Seigal

Shop Til You Drop

I thought I lost my shopping list

the other day in town. 

I started to get weary 

as my spirits sunk right down.

A lethargy had set in

as I crawled along the floor.

Arriving at the mini-mart

I fumbled at the door. 

My eyelids felt all droopy

when I found what I had missed, 

for sitting in my pocket

was my long lost shopping list,

and straight away I felt

a little better than before,

since now I could declare

I wasn’t listless anymore.

Joshua Seigal

Pigeon

I don’t want to read about sick mums or dads,

or families getting separated or dying in wars. 

I want to hear of funny stuff, like the time

a pigeon got caught in our classroom and couldn’t 

escape, its wings flapping wildly, its little feet

hopping from desk to floor to desk. Miss let out

a sudden shriek, and then the whole class

was at it, squawking and hooting and howling

with joy, until Miss sent me to go and get

two bigger boys to help the sorry pigeon on its way.

I told my mum all this when I got home

and, through the dark, the smile lit up her face.

Joshua Seigal 

Got My Number

I close my eyes.

I count to ten.

I do it in my head

and then

I carry on

and count to twenty.

For a while

I think this plenty.

On I go though,

in my brain,

adding numbers

up again.

In my mind

the number mounts – 

as they say,

it’s the thought that counts.

Joshua Seigal 

Lovely poem on 'Courage' by Valentino, Year 5

A teacher recently got in touch with me to say the following:

I am writing to share a poem written by one of our Year 5 pupils, Valentino, who was inspired by our recent work in R.E. on courage. 

Valentino felt particularly passionate about this topic and wanted to express that courage doesn’t always mean feeling brave. He shared with his classmates that sometimes courage is when you feel scared or nervous, but you try anyway and ask for help. His poem reflects this beautifully, and as his teacher, I am incredibly proud of the insight and empathy he has shown.

With your permission, I wondered whether you might consider publishing Valentino’s poem on your blog. We completely understand if this isn’t possible, but it would mean a great deal to him to know that his words might be shared more widely.

I would of course be delighted to share Valentino's wonderful poem. I'm really honoured to have inspired such work, and Valentino should be very proud of himself. Well done!

You can do a lot of things whilst crying

You can get out of bed

Read in bed

Have a shower

Listen to the radio

Eat something

Drink something

Go for a walk

Go to work 

Call a friend

Call an enemy

Count backwards from 2,398

Take the toothpaste out the tube and replace it with peanut butter

Pretend to vaporise ants using nothing more than a squint

Read the Bible

Clean the kitchen 

Wash your underwear

Remove all the yellow Smarties from the packet then put them back again

Become a Buddhist 

Acquire a penchant for figs

Develop an allergy to figs

Retire

Start a new job

Cross out all the days in your diary except for Wednesdays

Learn to speak Russian

Learn to speak Russian backwards

Learn to walk backwards whilst looing forward

Pay your tax bill

Rob a bank 

Become semi-competent at meteorology

Become a milk sommelier 

Speak in stilted Mandarin to the President of the USA

Be the President of the USA

Entertain a class of three-year-olds

Raise pigeons

Raise the dead 

Raise income tax 

Travel to Nicaragua in a hot air balloon 

Annex Nicaragua

Change a dirty nappy

Fumble for change 

Demand change 

Change yourself

Change your diet

Change your wife 

Keep everything exactly at is is

Blow your nose 

Just be serious for a second 

Be serious for two seconds

Now three

Now four

Pretend things are OK

Put on your suit and tie

Kiss your wife/husband/mum/dad/dog goodbye

All of the above

Live

Laugh 

Love 

Joshua Seigal

(this poem was inspired by Caroline Bird)

another painful memory from Year 7

The other day I wrote a post about my difficficult transition from primary to secondary school. Since I did the post, another event has entered my recollection. It is a painful memory, involving something that happened right at the beginning of Year 7. I suppose I could edit my original post to include this memory, but I thought it might be better to do a new post. Perhaps it will drive more people to my blog this way, who knows. Anyway. This is what happened.

In the first month or so of joining the school in Year 7, a classmate, let’s call him T, invited the whole class over to his house. I think it was some kind of bonding exercise, and it was made clear that the whole class was invited, with no exceptions. I believe there may have been paper invitations, although I can’t remember. But I do remember that the invitation applied to everyone in my class.

The gathering was on a Saturday, and I remember worrying the night before about what I should wear. How can I put together an outfit that would make me appear cool? Would we be doing physical activities, such as playing football? Should I wear trainers or sensible shoes? I remember not massively wanting to go, but feeling that this might be a good opportunity to get to know my new classmates. And maybe impress them with my football skills.

On the Saturday morning of the gathering, my dad drove me to T’s house. It wasn’t too far from where we lived, about twenty minutes by car. I remember that T’s house was massive – a mansion. Pulling up to the house, I remember wondering where everyone else was. Was I early? Late? Had I got the wrong day?

Standing next to my dad, I pushed on the doorbell. T’s dad answered, looking completely bemused. He asked who were were, and what we were doing there. Upon explaining that we were there for the class gathering, T’s mum appeared, and explained that the event had been cancelled. They had called up everyone in the class to inform them that the gathering would not be going ahead. Had we not received the message?

No. We had not received the message. In fact, I was the only person in the class who was not informed of the cancellation. Everyone else had been told, except me. So I was the only person in the whole class to have come to T’s house on that day.

I felt pretty silly and embarrassed. What happened next, however, was the bit that still jabs lightly into my sides when I think of it, even all these years later. T stood awkwardly in the doorway, myself and my dad on the other side of the threshold. We sort of stared at each other, T and I, neither quite knowing what to do or say. I wasn’t especially friendly with T at school, but having just started in Year 7, I hadn’t yet become particularly friendly with anyone. Finally I asked “shall I leave?” and T replied “if you don’t mind.”

If you don’t mind. 

He could have invited me in. He could have said sorry. He could have done any number of things to extend the hand of friendship, but he asked me to leave. If I didn’t mind. 

The incident was not discussed again. And I get the feeling my parents were embarrassed and upset on my behalf. It’s strange how these incidents can stay with us, and I often think about all the times I must have been less than friendly to others, and how, even though I myself may not remember it, others might still be sore about it, regardless of how much time may have passed.

Menagerie Tragedy - a comic poem

My dog doesn’t bark

and my cow doesn’t moo.

My sheep won’t go bah

and my pigeon won’t coo. 

My snake doesn’t hiss 

and my bear doesn’t growl.

My frog will not ribbit.

My wolf will not howl.

My duck will not quack

and my thrush is unsung.

The creatures are silent.

The cat got their tongue.

Joshua Seigal