Fire Hazard

An electrician came

to look behind the fridge-freezer

and said it was a fire hazard.

The wiring wasn’t done correctly.

For ten years I’ve been living in this flat

and the whole time there it was –

the fire hazard

waiting right in front of me.

And for forty years I’ve been living

in this world

with fire hazards everywhere.

Most of the rooms around here

don’t have windows

to escape from

and jump out of any window

and you simply land face-flat

in dry kindling anyway.

The floors are a fire hazard.

The walls are a fire hazard.

That line that separates

the land from the sky

is really a wire leading to a box of TNT.

The whole place is ready to blow.

I look at the moon

out the window at night,

casting faint light across the trees

in the park.

Come the morning

we’ll hear cries of abandon

from the swings and slides;

the quickening breath

of the crackling asphalt. 

Joshua Seigal

Come and Look at Bluebell!

Lounging on the table top

Splayed out in a belly flop 

Pretty as a movie prop – 

Come and look at Bluebell!

Curled up in a little heap 

Smiling in the grip of sleep 

Snoozing soundly, nice and deep – 

Come and look at Bluebell!

Loafing on the windowsill

Like a lumpy-bumpy hill 

Grab that camera! Have your fill – 

Come and look at Bluebell!

Munching plastic, yum yum yum 

Naughty kitty! Bad for tum!

(Now she stops and licks her bum…)

Come and look at Bluebell!

Joshua Seigal

Album Recommendation - 'Heartworms' by Whipping Boy

In Year 8, aged about thirteen, a friend lent me a copy of Nirvana's 'Nevermind'. I'd never heard any Nirvana before. About a minute into the album, I thought wow - this is one of the best things I have ever heard, and at the end of the opening song I was convinced that I had just heard the best song ever. Then the second song kicked in and it was somehow even better, or at least as good, and this feeling was maintained throughout the entirety of the album. I then went straight back to the beginning and listened to it all over again, and did this pretty solidly for about three or four years. Ever since then, I have never felt the same way about an album. Sure, there have been many albums I've loved, but not in the same way as 'Nevermind', where each song completely blew me away. Well, I've just had a comparable experience, and I'd like to share it. The band is Whipping Boy, and the album is 1995's 'Heartworms'. It's often cited as among the best Irish rock albums ever made, but the band never garnered even 100th of the attention they deserved. It's an incredible album, and I highly recommend that you give it a listen. Who knows, maybe one or two of you will have a similar transcental experience to mine. Here they are on Jools Holland, doing a similar thing to what Fontaines DC have gone on to do. Only Whipping Boy did it earlier, and better. Enjoy:

The Hope

In my hands, I’m holding

this unbearably heavy ball of hope. 

Watch me fold under its gravity. 

Come, help heft this globe

of hope for me, that I might rest

awhile, and replenish my strength.

Joshua Seigal

The Comedian

You’re about to go onstage

when she calls you up

to say her mum is sick. 

You’re about to go onstage

when you catch a glimpse of BBC News – 

Russia is going to test Article 5. 

You’re about to go onstage

when an urgent email from HMRC

hits your inbox. 

You’re about to go onstage

when you realise that everything

is so fragile, 

so insecure, so unsafe

that the only thing clasping the world together

is this moment – 

the faces that await you;

the lullabies

in their laughter.

Joshua Seigal

Poems Published in Fabulous New Football Anthology

I am delighted to announce that I have no less than ELEVEN poems published in a fabulous new poetry anthology of football poems: 

Here is a little sample, inspired (unfortunately) by the team I support. No prizes for guessing who they are!

Everyone, do go online a buy the book!!!

On Writing a Poem About Parenthood

How can I write

a poem about parenthood?

they ask, incredulous.

I have never been a parent.

I have never brought up children.

No, I have never been a parent, I reply. 

But I have been a child. 

Joshua Seigal

The Form

She told me to sign the form

but the name just wouldn’t come out. 

From the tip of my pen, my own name

simply refused to be written. I kept wondering

what the hell was wrong with me, asked

for more paper, tried again and again

but the letters wouldn’t form the correct structure.

I wrote JOHN instead of JOSHUA.

John is my dad’s name. My dad’s. Not mine.

She gave me new paper. Said I still had time. 

Joshua Seigal 

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