This is yesterday’s poem. I did write it yesterday but then I had a bout of indecision about it because it breaks my self imposed rule. This poem is for R who is a literal baby and doesn’t know what a poem is. However I accepted the prompt given on R’s behalf before I’d instituted my rule that the prompts have to be in the kid’s own words.

Anyway, R likes beans so here’s a late, illicit, silly bean poem.

String beans
Baked beans
Broad beans
Borlotti beans
Red beans
Green beans
Oh what a lotta beans

Beans on the table
Beans on the floor
Beans in my belly
More More More!

String beans
Baked beans
Broad beans
Borlotti beans
Red beans
Green beans
Oh what a lotta beans

Beans on a beanstalk
Beans in a tin
Beans on toast and
Beans in the bin

String beans
Baked beans
Broad beans
Borlotti beans
Red beans
Green beans
Oh what a lotta beans

Beans in a bean bag
Beans in a stew
Beans on me and
Beans on you.

String beans
Baked beans
Broad beans
Borlotti beans
Red beans
Green beans
Oh what a lotta beans!

Ezra asked for a poem about Andy Goldsworthy. You can see some of his artwork here. (Andy’s, not Ezra’s.)

Some people paint pictures of nature to show
Us its beauty. Make landscapes with mountains and trees
Out of oil paint, acrylic or gouache, but no
Andy Goldsworthy doesn’t use any of these

He doesn’t paint pictures, or sculpt out of clay
The colours and shapes that he needs are all here
In the forest, the river. And he has a way
To make what we are looking at even more clear.

The colours of leaves show the life of the wood
So he places them gently. The roots start to glow
He balances rocks so it looks like they should
Tumble down, but they don’t. He is trying to show

Us that art isn’t copying. Art is the way
That we look at what’s there, and the story it tells
He listens, and hears what the world has to say
And translates it in patterns of pebbles and shells.

A long-ago artist once said that each stone
Holds a sculpture within, and you just have to free it
But people like Goldsworthy, they’ve always known
That it’s already art, if you know how to
see it.

This poem is for Amelia, who asked for a poem about unicorns, glitter, sparkles and pink. I’ve decided that glitter and sparkles are sort of the same thing for this poem, but as a footnote, glitter is also VERY powerful. If you spill some you will never get rid of it for the rest of your life!

You know, some (very badly informed) people think
When I say I like unicorns, sparkles and pink,
That I’m not very serious, not very strong
And the thing about those people is that they’re wrong.

You’d have thought unicorns were respected, at least:
They are ancient and magical, mythical beasts
And you wouldn’t have thought that it needs to be said:
Do not mess with a horse with a horn on its head!

A lot of things sparkle, so shiny and bright
Like insects and crystals and stars in the night
And the way that they do it is really terrific
To understand why, you must be scientific

And pink is the colour of all sorts of flowers
That are lovely to look at, could kill you in hours
Oleanders and lupins and foxgloves and such
Are all pretty but poisonous: look, but don’t touch!

But a lie that some people will think, even speak
Is that things that are pretty are silly and weak
That’s ridiculous though: anybody can see:
Pretty things can be powerful: just look at me!

Eban asked for a poem about blue and yellow elephants and cars and food. I am hoping a passing reference to tanks will satisfy the car requirement.

Blue and yellow elephants
Can belly-dance
In smelly pants

Blue and yellow elephants
Eat jellied ants
And berry plants

Blue and yellow elephants
Play silly pranks
On men in tanks

Showing their intelligence
And relevance
And elegance.

This poem was commissioned by Bonnie, who requested “A kitchen in a doll’s house with a brown cat.”

I have a kitchen, so tiny and neat:

With small pots and pans it is really complete

But the old-fashioned stove hasn’t got any heat

And the food isn’t anything I want to eat.

 

It has four wooden chairs where the dolls sit, you see.

They eat make believe cake and drink make believe tea,

And their little brown cat’s always where she should be.

It looks cosy in there, but there’s no room for me.

 

I have a kitchen that’s messy and bright

Full of brothers and sisters who squabble and fight

Over pizza, till mum shouts “That’s it for the night!

You’ve got school in the morning, so turn off the light!”

 

There’s a toaster, a microwave, washing machine

A rack where the washing-up dries, when it’s clean

And a black and white cat who can sometimes be mean:

If her food bowl is empty she’s likely to scream!

 

If you see a picture that’s drawn in a book,

Of a kitchen, you’ll find it will probably look

Like the one in the doll’s house, pans hanging on hooks

It’s more “kitchenny-looking”, except, you can’t cook.

 

And little brown cat never scratches, or mews

The dolls never chat, so they can’t share their views

Though the little one’s pretty, I’ll tell you some news…

Our loud, messy kitchen’s the one I would choose!

Every year, for no discernible reason, I (try to) write a poem a day for 100 days on a set theme.

Previous years have featured

100 Sestinas

100 different poetry forms

100 100-word stories

100 answers to kids’questions

100 pandemic sonnets and

100 poems about monsters

This year I will be writing 100 poems to order based on “commissions” by children.

If you know a kid who would like to suggest a poem, please do get in touch with their suggestion. No charge, but if they like the poem I’d love it if they provided an illustration (which I’ll add to the blog post and, should this ever turn into a book, the book – with their permission, of course!)

At the time of writing 12 poems have already been commissioned by my friends’ kids, with topics including glitter and unicorns. beans. Pokémon (and diversity), Andy Goldsworthy, a woman who may possibly be a goldfish and. somewhat expectedly, poo.

The project will commence, as always, on March 14th (my birthday).

Submit any requests in the comments or to my twitter, @Tom_S_Juniper. First name (or preferred pseudonym) and age of child would be appreciated.

 Not a poem, but something I’ve been mulling over recently.

   1. Allyship is not safe.

Cheering from the sidelines is not the same as joining the fight. If you challenge bigotry, support your minority friends, family and colleagues, and wear your ribbons and safety pins on your lapel only so far as it is convenient, comfortable and safe to do so, if you don’t have skin in the game, you’re not my ally. And that’s OK. Being an ally is scary and you might not be ready to join the fight right now. I understand. Just remember that not everybody gets to make that choice. 

    2. Allyship is not comfortable.

A big part of allyship is unlearning prejudice: listening to people when they tell us what we could do differently, reflecting on prejudices and misconceptions we all pick up along the way, and doing something about them. This process is rarely an ego boost, but acknowledging our discomfort and working through it is part of the deal.

    3. Allyship is not a performance.

To quote Matthew quoting Jesus: “Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven. Thus, when you give to the needy, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by others.” Look. I am a massive atheist, so it’s not every day I quote the Bible. But even I have to admit that in this case it has a point. Kinda. Allyship is not charity, and personally I think doing something because you feel it’s right is more important than earning brownie points towards an en suite luxury cloud and extra shiny halo in the afterlife, but still, you get what I mean. If you’re only my ally when it gets you some clout. you’re not my ally at all. WWJD?

    4. Allyship is not one size fits all.

There’s a saying popular among autistic people and those who (hopefully) support us: “If you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met… one autistic person.” i.e.: autistic people aren’t all the same. I can see where people might get the idea that we are.  The autistic representation we see in the media is almost always an intelligent yet clueless white male weirdo who obliviously causes those around him no end of trouble but wins our hearts in the end. Rain Man, Sheldon Cooper, that kid in the book with the dead dog. The only female autistic representation in mainstream media that comes to mind is a literal Muppet. But actually that phrase applies equally to any given demographic. The support one person might need is not always the support another person needs. If you assume you know what’s best instead of talking to people about how you can best support them, you’re not helping, you’re probably getting in the way.

    5. Allyship is not about making allies feel good.

Doing nice stuff for people and seeing it have a positive affect makes everyone feel good about themselves. Hooray. Feeling good is nice. But it’s not the point here. If you’re only an ally because it feels good, you’re going to withdraw your support the second you don’t feel good. That’s not allyship, that’s using oppressed people to get your dopamine fix.

    6. Allyship does not talk over those it aims to support.

“Nothing about us without us” is a useful slogan here. Don’t tell people what they need. Making suggestions is OK. Overruling the wishes of the people you want to support “for their own good” is not. Speak with us, not for us.

    7. Allyship is not dependent on the respectability, politeness or gratitude of those it aims to support.

If you think injustice is wrong, and you have the capacity to fight it, do so. Oppressed people don’t owe you niceness. If flattery and lip service from people who know you’ll throw them under the bus the second they let the fake smile drop is the validation you seek, I have one question: what the hell is wrong with you?

    8. Allyship is not a part time job.

You can’t just think bigotry is wrong on evenings and weekends, but let it slide the rest of the time. You can’t challenge prejudice at work but not at home, or vice versa. Well, I guess you can, but if that’s what you’re doing, I have to assume your solidarity is less than solid.

    9. Allyship is not a self conferred title.

I remember a few years back some guy on Facebook said something dodgy about trans people in the interests of “playing devil’s advocate”. When I (quite politely) challenged him on it, he got offended and explained to me that it was ok for him to say what he said because he was a trans ally. I had never heard him speak up for trans people, and it wasn’t the first “edgy” comment he’d made about minority groups. But because he’d awarded himself ally status, he felt that nothing he said could be challenged. (Spoiler alert, he later transpired to be a massively abusive asshole). By all means aspire to allyship, but let those you want to fight alongside let you know whether or not you’re doing so in a helpful way.

    10. Allyship is not an identity.

I don’t like those “straight ally” badges. What do they mean? That this person was an ally the day they bought the badge? That they, like Chuckles over there in point 9, like to be considered an ally to avoid criticism? Allyship is not a permanent status, but rather something we must consciously decide to DO. Day by day, second by second. I don’t stop being autistic or trans if forget to do it. I might stop being anti-racist if I don’t make it my active practice. Complacency doesn’t make for meaningful support.

If all this feels harsh, it’s because allyship is hard and it’s disingenuous to pretend otherwise. It’s ok (inevitable) not to be perfect at it. It’s also a choice. If you want an easy feelgood fix, watch a cute cat video. (Do that anyway). If you want to be an ally, be aware you’re joining a fight, not a parade.

I wasn’t exactly expecting the hair.
Well, sooner or later I was, to be fair.
But in a much more theoretical way:
I thought “Well, it’s going to take time. but one day
I might have a beard and a flat, hairy chest!”
But here’s what is weird. I would never have guessed:
Cos they say, in the leaflet you get at the clinic, It’s not right away that your beard will come in. It’s expected to take a good number of years
For a thick, luscious face rug to fully appear,
And perhaps not at all, because mileage may vary,
But your face, for a while, isn’t going to be hairy.
So I kind of imagined that I would just stay
Smooth and boyish, that is, till the glorious day
That I’d wake up to peach fuzz, then bum fluff, then, oh!
The facial hair proper’s beginning to grow!
A whole lot of nothing, then BOOM! Brian Blessed!
And that was naïve, I will freely confess it
And being hirsute is a part of my goal…
But I certainly wasn’t expecting The Mole.
Because on my left cheek, I have got an old buddy
The size of a lentil. The colour is muddy
He’s always been hairy, but secretly so
I could feel his wee tuft, but to look, who would know?
Well, testosterone gel has just got him inspired!
He’s putting out feelers. They’re long black and wiry.
It looks like a spider’s camped out on my cheek
And that started, I think, in the very first week
I could shave him, I guess, but the thought kind of rankles,
I’m counting on him, now, to set an example
To all of the rest of my reticent follicles:
Give them a hint, let them know what is possible.
And the chest, it’s still smooth, and yet here is the killer:
My belly and thighs? Classic mountain gorilla!
And my shin hair is curly! There’s texture! There’s gloss!
It took 42 years, but I’m gathering moss!
There’s nothing but zits decorating my back
But an absolute jungle’s appeared in my crack.
Too much information? Well, next time beware
Of transmasculine poets obsessed with their hair.

This is a new blog, and I have a new name.

I’ve actually been writing and performing for around 2 decades. I’m not in any way famous, (even by poetry standards!) but I’ve had some small success in slams, so there’s a slight chance you’ve come across me and my work before. If my face or my work feel familiar, that’s why.

But I’ve changed a lot since I started performing. Just as an example, when I started performing I thought I was a neurotypical lesbian. That’s very funny to me now. I was also trying desperately to be something, somebody, that I wasn’t cut out to be, and it made me miserable for a long time. That’s less funny.

So it’s time for a fresh start. I’m a non binary trans masculine autistic poet in early medical transition, and I actually like who I am now. So if you haven’t met me before: hello, I’m Tom. And if you have met me before: hello, I’m Tom now.

It’s nice to meet you.