Fun poems written by a teacher!

I recently received the following email from a teacher, containing both a very kind note of admiration for myself, and some lovely poems. I am pleased to be able to share the message, and I hope me readers enjoy the poems as much as I did. Do please follow the teacher-poet on Instagram - her handle is mentioned in the message below!

I’m a KS1/EYFS primary teacher and LOVE children’s poetry. I grew up reading Janet and Allan Ahlberg, Michael Rosen and Spike Milligan. I’ve introduced an annual poetry recital at school for the year 2s and they all performed a wonderful rendition of ‘I don’t like poetry.’ They all think it’s hilariously clever! 

I’ve just set up an instagram account called @poemsfortheyoungatheart. I’ve started uploading some of my poems. It’s on my bucket list to get a poem published one day so seemed a sensible place to start! 

They’re just silly ditties but would love to know what you think. There’s a few I’m going to try out on my class. 

Time to Line up!

It all started with a bell.

A lonely scuffle.

Then total hell! 

“Line up nicely!” The teacher cried. 

“Order! In rows. Side by side!

No pushing, no shoving, racing through. 

A line’s not hard. You know what to do.

You call this a line? It’s wiggly spaghetti! 

Oi! you there. Stop teasing Hetty!

Oh Honestly! I must implore! 

Stop that rolling on the floor! 

The bell has rung, The time is nigh! 

Stop that Sarah! You’re making Tom cry. 

Your shirt’s untucked. Your laces undone. 

You’re much too old. To be sucking your thumb! 

You all line up like babbling baboons! 

Jumping jelly beans! Loony Toons! 

Twenty ferrets In a vest,

A bear inside a hornets nest. 

I won’t give up! I don’t know how! 

YOU ALL NEED TO LINE UP RIGHT NOW!”

The playground froze. 

Then Joshua farted. 

And all went back to how they started. 

“I’m throwing the towel in. 

These kids should be free. 

I’m going in for a nice cuppa tea.” 

Nits (I actually wrote this when I was 10 but it’s a firm gross fave with my kids!)

“What’s that moving in your hair?”

My mother said to me.

“Come here. Let me have a closer look.

To see what it could be.”

It only took a little glance.

And some tugging at some bits.

I had caught the dreaded plague..

I had a head full of nits! 

All the instruments were in place

For the bug busting operation.

“Please sit still for another hour!

I need your cooperation!”

One by one the nits were pulled, 

And washed down the drain.

Goodbye my little friends.

But don’t come back again! 

When I’m Three 

I’m two years old.

But when I’m three 

Such a big boy 

I will be. 

I will be tall

Up to towering heights. 

I’ll turn all door knobs, 

Switch on all lights. 

I’ll use big scissors,

Cross the road.

Run cross the lawn, 

When it’s still being mowed. 

I’ll have big laces

On my shoes 

Pour my own milk

And watch the news. 

I’ll reach the biscuits,

Climb the tree. 

When I’m three,

There will be no stopping me! 

Year 3 write their own versions of my poem 'I Don't Like Poetry'

I was very excited when a teacher from Colville Primary School in Cambridge sent me the following message:

I just wanted to say how much my Year 3 class have enjoyed reading your poem 'I Don't Like Poetry' in Guided Reading. Some of them wrote their own versions independently after we read and discussed your work and I was so impressed by the way the stimulus of your poem got them writing some really interesting similes and metaphors. I've attached some examples for you. There was a thunderous round of applause when they read them out in assembly!

I am really happy to be able to share a selection of their fantastic poems on my blog. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did:

Soldiers

I could have you court-martialed for this!

the guy bellows, spit flying in my face.

I had just pointed my gun at a mate. As a joke.

The guy grabbed my collar and marched me off. 

The gun wasn’t loaded, obviously.

And the guy twisting my arm up my back was a Sixth Former.

The whole thing was a fake.

We weren’t real soldiers and this wasn’t a war.

I didn’t even want to do Cadets. My dad made me.

Said it would be good for my character.

I found my old boots the other day –

the ones that took weeks to wear in,

that gave my feet blisters

as we yomped through the forest.

They were stuffed in a bag at the back of the wardrobe,

along with dusty school reports

and bits of crumpled artwork.

I wondered what the Sixth Former was doing now.

Wife, kids and a decent job. Probably. 

I put the boots on and clomped to the tiny garden. 

My feet felt heavy, the grass buckling beneath.

The war came, you might say, and me? The first to run.

I’ve got the boots but no longer the gun.

Joshua Seigal 

One Word

One word. Yesterday I wrote one word. 

A single, solitary word. That is to say, 

I looked at a poem, crossed one word out 

and replaced it with another word. It was, 

all things considered, a better word, but still – 

it was merely one word that I wrote.

And later on, as I filled in my journal, 

I put a little tick next to the word ‘writing’. 

For I had done some writing that day – 

a word. I wrote a word. Sometimes

we need to see the little things, to look them

in the eye, to tell them they are loved.

I love you, little word. I love you, life.

Joshua Seigal

A Marriage

For our wedding

we were gifted a poem.

One of those heartfelt

wedding poems. 

This morning I noticed

it sat wonky in its frame. 

The metaphor was so obvious

I almost didn’t bother

writing a poem about it.

Joshua Seigal

My book I DON'T LIKE POETRY is TEN YEARS OLD!

Wow - where does the time go? My debut poetry collection with Bloomsbury, I Don't Like Poetry, is ten years old this year. To celebrate, Bloomsbury have added a little sticker thingy to the cover of the book, as you can see. 

Stay tuned for plenty of fun anniversary activities and events this year. Thank you Bloomsbury, and thank you to all my readers, watchers and enjoyers!

Two Music-Related Poetry Ideas for the Summer Reading Challenge

This year, the theme of the Summer Reading Challenge is Read to the Beat. In their book selection, music and musicians therefore feature very prominently. Here, then, are two poetry workshop ideas, both related to music. They are very simple, and can easily be adapted for any ages and abilities. I hope you enjoy making use of them. 

• The Music of Rhyme

Step One

Make a list of rhyming words, e.g. bat/cat, ball/wall, nut/hut, etc. This can be done as a competition; it can be done individually, in pairs, in groups, as shared writing in a class setting - the possibilities are basically endless. The aim is to come up with a large-ish bank of rhyming words.

Step Two

Now we find the music. What 'music' does each couplet make? Here are some ideas:

    The crack of the nut

    The creak of the hut

    The thwack of the ball

    The laugh in the hall

    The swoosh of the bat

    The yowl of the cat

The idea here is to come up with powerful sound-related nouns, such as those highlighted in bold. There are endless variations on this idea. Suffice to say, it is a fun way of working with rhyme, which children often struggle with when it comes to writing poetry. 

• The Music of Place

Step One

Think of a favourite place. It could be a big place, like a country, or a small place, like a room. Next, make a list of items or ideas associated with that place. This could be done individually, in pairs, or in groups. Here is an example:

    Example: the beach

    seagulls

    clouds

    waves

    sky

    crabs

    fish and chips

    ice cream

    children playing

    sunbathing

football

Step Two

Now look for the 'music' related to a selection of these objects. Here, rhyming is deemphasised; the focus is just on creating powerful, interesting descriptions, hopefully using a variety of language techniques. What will result is a list poem. Here is my example.

    The Music of the Beach

    The swoosh of the seagulls as they swoop through the sky 

    The gleeful yelling of the kids as they play

    The click click clacking of the crabs' crazy claws

    The trickle of the ice cream down the crispy cone

    The sun blazing brightly in the summer sky

Finally, and relatedly, here is a poem published in my book I Don't Like Poetry (Bloomsbury, 2016). Enjoy:

    Music

    The dance of the heart

    The gulp of the throat

    The threep of the whistle

    The roar of the crowd

    The crunch of the tackle

    The bark from the sidelines

    The skim on the pass

    The crack of the shot

    The swoosh of the net

    The whoop of the your dad

    The squeeze of the hug

    The music of joy

The Judge of the Poetry Competition,

they say, is an expert on cheese. Obsessed with the stuff. He’s written several volumes about cheese, speaks at all the big cheese conventions, and has chastised other writers for being insufficiently concerned with cheese. This all came as something of a curveball to me. I’d never really thought too much about cheese, and certainly had very little to say on the subject in my own writing. I’d wanted to win this competition for a long time, so I traipsed down the aisles of Tesco, looking at all the cheeses, searching for inspiration. Nothing. I went home and told myself at least to give this thing a go. I wrote ‘Mozzarella’ at the top of a big blank sheet of paper. The paper stayed blank. After a few days the absence of inspiration began to weigh more heavily upon me. I sought out the more salubrious cheese establishments, spoke to the people behind the counter, looking intensely for the human element, the story behind the story. I came up with one or two ideas, but once again these failed to take shape on the page. They felt false, as though it was obvious that, unlike the the Judge of the Poetry Competition, cheese just wasn’t my thing. I quite liked a slice of mild edam, sure, but I didn’t have much else to say on the matter. Maybe next year, I told myself. There will be a different Judge of the Poetry Competition next year. Maybe next year will be my year – maybe the Judge of the Poetry Competition will be an aficionado of platypuses.

Joshua Seigal

A MINI-ANTHOLOGY OF FOOTBALL POEMS

Over the last few months, I have been working on a collection of football poems, along with several other authors. The final selection of poems has now been decided. With that in mind, I'd like to present on my blog a selection of poems that did not make the final cut, but which I nonetheless hope you enjoy. Here they are. Enjoy!

Touchline Dad 

When Dad’s on the touchline

he bellows and screams,

berating the ref

and upsetting the teams.

He stamps with his feet

and his cheeks go all red.

He loses his temper.

He loses his head.

When Dad’s on the touchline

he raves and he rants.

The ref gets so nervous 

he pees in his pants.

The striker is sobbing.

The keeper is numb.

The winger’s uneasy.

The manager’s glum.

When Dad’s on the touchline

it’s never good news. 

He’s got a bad temper.

He’s got a short fuse.

He makes it unpleasant.

It’s really a shame.

We’re only aged seven.

It’s only a gam

Goalkeeper Blues

Well I’m standin’ in the rain

And my jersey’s soaked right through

Yeah I’m standin’ in that rain

And my jersey’s soaked right through

And they’ve left me all alone here

Don’t know what I’m gonna do

Got the goalkeeper blues

Got the goalkeeper blues

And my hands are feelin’ sweaty

This ain’t what I wanna choose

Well the others have the ball

And they kickin’ it at me

Yeah the others have that ball now

And they kickin’ it at me 

And the ball is in the net baby

And the score is now 4-3

Got the goalkeeper blues

Got the goalkeeper blues

And my teammates shoutin’ at me

This is mighty awful news

Don’t wanna be in goal

But they gone and stuck me here

No don’t wanna be in goal my lord

But they gone and stuck me here

And I’m freezin’ and I’m loansome

And I’m sheadin’ me a tear

Got the goalkeeper blues

Got the goalkeeper blues

Next time they stick me do it 

Well I swear I’ll just refuse

Got them goalkeeper blues 

Flop

Cost 80 mil 

Drives a fancy car 

Moved over here

To be a star

His talent they told us

Would take him far

What is he?

He’s a flop.

Can’t score a goal

Can’t kick a ball 

Can he take set pieces?

Not at all

I’m banging my head

Against the wall

What is he?

He’s a flop. 

Like wading through treacle

When he’s on the flank

Though he skips with joy

On the way to the bank 

He’s as elegant

As a massive tank

What is he?

He’s a flop. 

Cost 80 mil

Now it’s down the drain

He’s missed a penalty

Yet again

Ship him out!

Stick him on a plane!

What is he?

He’s a flop.

Hat-Trick Haiku

Yes yes yes yes yes

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes 

Yes yes yes! Get in!

Yes yes yes yes yes 

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes 

Yes yes yes yes yes! Get in!

Yes yes yes yes yes 

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes 

Yes yes yes yes yes! GET IN!!!!!

Ten Things That Are Better Than a Goal

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

Claim to Fame 

My uncle’s

neighbour’s

grandfather’s

carpenter’s

brother’s

mate’s

gardener’s

dad’s 

wife’s 

electrician

was an unused sub

for Leamington

for a friendly

at the end

of the season

in 1989.

I swear.

Honest

(all poems by Joshua Seigal)