Friday, 24 July 2026

Cupboard Love

There’s nothing like a cupboard

to deposit all your stuff,

like sausages and sandwiches

and tangled balls of fluff,


plus slugs and scraps of paper

you discovered on the street – 

just chuck them in your cupboard

and the mission is complete.


There’s nothing like a cupboard

to secrete those treasured goodies,

like sweaty socks and undies

and a heap of unwashed hoodies.


For all the bits you’ve gathered,

when your space has been exceeded,

a little extra room’s a must – 

a cupboard’s what is needed.


There’s nothing like a cupboard

to secure that precious stash

of cartons of rice pudding

you recovered from the trash.


I love my trusty cupboard

and it cannot be denied,

so stick a clothes-peg on your nose

and take a peak inside.


Joshua Seigal


Tuesday, 21 July 2026

Lenny Won't Walk

Lenny won’t walk

when you put on his lead. 

It’s against his beliefs. 

It conflicts with his creed. 


You can offer him treats. 

You can tempt and cajole. 

He won’t go for an amble,

a jaunt or a stroll. 


Lenny won’t walk 

if you beg and you plea.

He just sits on the pavement

or goes for a wee. 


You can bellow and urge

and beseech and solicit – 

a stubborn refusal 

is always explicit. 


It’s really no use 

if you holler or squawk.

No, it’s best to give up

because Lenny won’t walk.


Joshua Seigal


Monday, 20 July 2026

Exact Replica

after Arnold Zuboff 


They made an exact replica of my wife.

Cell for cell, precisely duplicated.

It had all the same memories, hopes, desires.

It had all the same quirks, dreams, regrets.


It knew me by name.

And as I heard it rattling the doorknob,

trying hard to get in,

calling out for me, I held your hand.


Brain-blank and spine-shot,

your soft hand in mine,

the both of us encased

in the white walls of the hospital.


For Better or Worse, I promised.


The You is the Love that persists.


Joshua Seigal 


Wednesday, 15 July 2026

The Book-Child

You spend your days and nights shaping it into

something approaching perfection. Or, if not perfection,

helping it live up to its potential – an extra comma


here, a colon there, maybe a sentence or two to be deleted. 

This thing means something. It’s part of you. You wake up

at 4am – has it transmogrified without your knowledge?


You open up the document and give it another read.

It’s just as you left it. Back to bed. Come the morning

you know its safe, sleeping soundly in its little folder.


But potential means the big wide world, that frisson of

getting older. Maybe others won’t gift it quite the same love,

won’t understand it as you do, won’t see it as worthy of


quite the same stakes. That’s the risk you have to take. 

You can’t keep your baby at home forever. You have to

let paper wings fly. You have to kiss them goodbye.


Joshua Seigal 


Tuesday, 14 July 2026

On Making Money (Or Not)

Since the beginning of this year, I have been working extremely hard on a project which I know will never make me any money. I have been continuing to visit schools and run workshops, which does make money, and thus I have been able to keep up a decent income. But the lion's share of my creative endeavours have been going towards a project which, almost certainly, will reap zero pecuniary benefit. 

The project in question is a pamphlet of poems aimed at adults. Since 2016, I have been lucky enough to have had seven books of children's poetry published by Bloomsbury, and two by HarperCollins. Whilst my author's cut of the profits from these books is not what it should be -- such is the case for all authors -- I nonetheless get a royalty cheque twice a year, and am able to buy copies of my books myself at a hefty discount, and thus make a profit when I sell them during school visits. Therefore, when working on these books, I know that there will be money in it for me. It's not that I am even thinking about this when I write, but I am in a different position to that which I now find myself in. 

Why do I know my project won't make me any money? Because poetry aimed at grown ups doesn't sell well, for one. Even very accomplished poets don't make money from their books, they make it from their other pursuits, which in the world of 'grown up' poetry is mostly teaching, lecturing, or some other kind of day job. And this is the well known poets. In the world of grown up poetry, I am a complete nobody. I was extremely fortunate to have had a poem published in Poetry Wales magazine in 2023, and this is no small feat (you can read the poem here, and I've made it prominent on the right of this blog, under the 'Featured Post' heading). This poem will hopefully form the backbone of my forthcoming collection. But I am far from the sort of name the casual browser would ever think to pluck off the bookshelf. No: if my pamphlet ever sees the light of day with a publisher, I am unlikely to see my bank balance rise, even slightly, as a result of it. And that's if it ever gets published, which it might well not.

The other week, my mum asked what I was working on, and I told her about my pamphlet. I do not come from an artistic family. Her primary concern was when, how, and indeed whether this would make any money. I said it would not, ever, even if I strike lucky with publication someday. She was confused: why on earth would I be doing such a thing? Why would I spend my time on this? My somewhat frivolous response was that Van Gogh never sold a single painting during his lifetime, and that didn't stop him. My mum wasn't particularly impressed.

So why am I doing it? Why am I spending all this time and energy on something which, even under the most optimistic of scenarios, will not make me any cashish? Reader, my answer will sound incredibly pretentious. I am doing it for the Art. I am simply following the current of where my artistic inspiration is taking me. For perhaps the first time in my life, I am feeling like a Real Artist, creating something for no other reason than because it is art. Paradoxically, the knowledge that it won't make any money makes me feel even more of an artist, and helps me pour even more passion into this project. It feels like the most meaningful thing I have ever done. All my writing feels meaningful to me, but this does more than anything else, because I know everything else also has a business element to it. I just hope I don't come to regret spending my time in this way, when the bills heap up.

A little preview: the pamphlet is called The Relationship Expert (ironic, or is it??), and features autobiographical poems and one or two surreal ones as well. A few of the pieces have already been published, and a few have appeared on this blog. Stay tuned. This is now the end of this blog post, and as I look at the clock I realised I have just spent an hour on another thing which I know will never make me any money. 

Sunday, 12 July 2026

The Science

Then the ROCD latched onto percentages,

correlations, success rates. I began to think

of compatibility as something out there, to be


discovered. I looked up the tests they say

they have, found Wilson and Eysenck –

all of that crap. Did we have what it takes?


Are we doing it right? What does it say 

in the books? What does it say online?

A million hotshots with a million bright ideas – 


the stupid ones die off; the fittest survive.

Am I stupid? What did Finkel write?

Is this an equation, and have we been cracked?


Joshua Seigal


Thursday, 9 July 2026

Cats and Cats and Cats!

I don’t want a book

about lions or dogs;

I don’t want a book

about rabbits or frogs;

I don’t want a book

about badgers or bats – 

I just want a book

about CATS!


I don’t want a book 

about windows or doors;

I don’t want a book

about tables or floors;

I don’t want a book

about T-shirts or hats – 

I just want a book

about CATS!


I don’t want a book

about hamster or horses,

or heather, or ivy,

or poppies or gorses,

or hedgehogs or hillocks

or rivers or rats – 

I just want a book

about CATS!


I don’t want a book

about anything silly,

or soppy or slimy 

or filthy or frilly;

I’m feelin' fine feline 

felicitous tracts – 

yes give me a book

about CATS!!!


Joshua Seigal

Tuesday, 7 July 2026

Is It Safe Yet?

I’ve not checked the news for five minutes,

so I can’t be sure. Best check again. Better yet,

ask ChatGPT if there’s been any updates – 


what’s the latest situation in Iran, Russia, the USA?

Has the nuclear risk increased?

Can I please have a percentage likelihood, please?


It haunts me in the night. I wake up at five,

shuffle into the room next door,

and – bleary eyed – I check my phone…


My therapist says this is a form of self harm:

I think it makes me safer but the opposite is true – 

the greatest danger is that which I pose


to myself. Not the tanks or the bombs. Not here

in England. (How lucky I am to live here.)

I’ve not checked the news for five minutes. 


I’ve been writing this poem and I haven’t checked. 

Is this a win? Is this a small victory?

I put down the pen. What will I do next?


Joshua Seigal