A concerned child wanted this reassurance from her teacher. AKA my friend Graeme.

I can’t be sure the sun is going to rise

Tomorrow, but you have to realize

That every single other day we’ve had

The sun has risen; so the odds aren’t bad.

I think the sun will rise, without much fuss.

But what it rises on? That’s up to us.

This sunny enquiry was made of my friend Gaby by a three year old.

You’re three, and everybody is your friend:

You fire precision sunbeams from your face

Nobody can resist you in the end

Your optimism is a state of grace.

Each stranger’s strangeness is a new delight

There’s nobody you do not want to love 

And I would like to say that you are right

Though you’ll learn something different, soon enough.

For there are people who will let you down

And there are people who will cause alarm

And there are people who will make you frown

And there are people who will do you harm.

The love you bear the world won’t always fit

But still, I hope you keep a little bit.

Asked by Martha. 

Maybe

Sweet Anakin

Knows who she is

But nobody believes her.

And maybe she’s allowed

Her anger about that.

And maybe she’s allowed

Her anger about that

To affect her.

But still, the force is strong.

And underneath the mask

A princess smiles.

The full question was “what I’ve always wondered is, do spiders blink?”. I like that this was a long pondered conundrum.

I’ve got eight legs.

I’ve got eight eyes.

I’ve got a web

For catching flies.

An eye on that

I need to keep 

Don’t even shut

All eight to sleep

So no I never

Even blink.

Sometimes, however,

I might wink.

Another one that was asked of teaching assistant Jen. On a school trip to an art gallery, I’m guessing!

They’d have told you, if they could, that they were

Trying to capture, with their paints and charcoal

What a person is; not what clothes look like.

They tried to show the beauty of the body

It wasn’t rude or sexy, it was honest.

A way of understanding being human.

At least… That’s what they’d say, if we could ask them;

Perhaps they just got bored of painting clothing.

Another one for Tulsi:

Don’t they look tiny? All twinkling there, way up high

Like fragments of diamonds, glued onto the black velvet sky 

And if they would fall, you could catch them to hold in your hands

And look at on those days when nobody else understands.

But we are the ones who are tiny. We’re tinier far

Than the faintest of all the millions of glittering stars.

They’re bigger than you can imagine, so hot and so bright

All twinkling so far away in the infinite night.

So when you look up at the stars, and you start feeling small

Remember your problems aren’t really so big after all.

Whatever this little world tells us, there’s no need to fuss

If those fragments of sparkling diamonds are bigger than us.

An absolutely beautiful and important question from Tulsi.

•  

After the mermaid disco

When the moon shines on the waves

The tired and laughing mermaids

Pour out of the disco caves

•  

They’ve been dancing to the music

That through the water thrums

With a big blue whale on vocals

And an octopus on drums

•  

They’ve been drinking seaweed cocktails

And fine kelp wine and such

And they’re swimming’s kind of wonky

Cause they’ve had a bit too much.

•  

Their ropes of pearls are tangled

And one has lost her comb.

Another her seashell bangles

And they all want to get back home.

•  

So they all swim down together

Make sure everyone’s OK

And a fleet of dolphin taxis

Soon carry them away.

•  

After the mermaid disco

They need to rest their heads

So the dolphins help the mermaids

To get back home to bed.

Excuse the days of silence and sudden influx of poems. Time management isn’t my strong suit.

My friend Daisy got this gem of childish tact fired at her. I decided to abandon my first instinct (that the answer should be along the lines of “from eating little boys”) and go for body positivity!

•  

I got so fat

from eating sweets 

And lots of other

Lovely treats

•  

I got so fat

Because I’m old

My body won’t

Do what it’s told.

•  

I got so fat

Because I’ve found

My body’s happier

When round

•  

But being fat

Or being thin

Or in between

Is not a sin.

•  

The only thing

That isn’t cool

With body shapes

Is being cruel

•  

So love your body,

And be kind

To other people:

Then you’ll find

•  

That really it

Should never matter

Who is thin,

And who is fatter.

 

A kid asked my sister this. I can guarantee this wasn’t her answer, nor would it be mine, but it’s what came out of my fingers. It’s one of saddest poems I’ve written in this project.

I’m a sensible cyclist
Commuting to work, see,

I can’t do a Wheelie

That would be too quirky

I keep to the bike lanes

Avoid muddy puddles

I must keep my suit clean

And stay out of trouble

My bottle of water’s

Attached to my frame

And my route to the office

Is always the same.

And if sometimes I dream

Of a previous time

Of wheelies and croggies

That isn’t a crime.

But my boss has a car:

He’s not going to promote me

If my bike is covered

With bright spokie-dokies

A sensible cyclist,

My childhood is done:

I can’t do a wheelie,

I can’t ride for fun.

This casual query was put to my friend Dave when he worked with under fives. The context was the relative reality of a face paint beard and a, well, home grown one.

What’s real is easy to define

(Provided that your brain’s ok)

But your experience and mine

Are different, so it’s hard to say

If my reality’s like yours.

Though on some things, we can agree

Like that’s the sky, and that’s the floor

And you are you and I am me.

My beard is real, because I grew it

This fact cannot be debated

Is yours less real because you drew it?

That’s where it gets complicated.

The difference is how they behave:

Your beard can be washed off, but mine

Is permanent… Until I shave.

What’s real? Not easy to define