#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day7 #SkippingRyhme #WeAreOnALittlePlanet

We are on a little planet,

cracking at the seams.

You were chasing profits,

we are chasing dreams.

Storms are getting wilder now,

rivers start to flood

how many grown‑ups will step up

before we’re done for good?

One, two, three…

#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day6 #TheWildBoarWhoThinks #DislikingSomething #OnlyInADream

 

 

The Wild Boar Who Thinks I’m Being Mugged Off

I.

I’m just heading out, keys in one hand, dignity in the other,

when a boar lumbers out from behind a hedge,

snorting like he’s late for a family argument.

“All right, sweetheart,” he says,

“you look like you’ve been fightin’ a filing cabinet in your sleep.

What’s the world thrown at ya now?” 

II. 

I tell him about the databases,

the unholy trinity of data collection,

enthusiastic smiles and nods, hopes pinned

on this ouroboric tool not eating its own tail.

The boar snorts so hard a leaf does a backflip.

“If you had tusks like mine,” he says,

“you could skewer the whole circus.”

He coughs and gives a slight attitude adjustment -

“but gentle-like."

III.

We wander on,

me and this tusky patron saint of the overwhelmed,

in a taxied chariot zooming from home,

down the motorway,

past Samphire Hoe;

soon the White Cliffs and castle come into view.

“Reasonable adjustments, my hoof,” he mutters.

“They tell ya they’ll sort things,

but it’s always you doing the heavy lifting.

No wonder you’re buyin’ your own safety devices -

stop goin’ cap in hand, 

to people who measure your worth against a budget sheet.”

IV.

As I exit, he stamps a hoof,

tusks gleaming like two very sharp opinions.

“Listen, darlin’,” he says,

“you deserve better than endless loops

and instructions written by desk goblins.

You’re allowed to protect yourself.

You’re allowed to rest.

You’re allowed to fantasise about gently, metaphorically

hoisting the whole stack of nonsense onto my tusks

and launchin’ it into the nearest passing cloud.”

V.

He tells me to give his respects to the chough.

He gives me a look that’s half feral, half fond.

“Go on then,” he says. “Be brave.

And if life throws more nonsense at ya today,

just imagine me behind you,

snortin’ like a steam train,

toofy tusks polished, ready to defend you

in the most dream-only, paperwork-free way possible.”

I thank him and, under my breath, acknowledge

he really is worth the hassle.

#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day5 #MinorInconveniences #DislikingSomething

Minor Inconveniences 

Methinks I loathe the word methinks.

It juggles into sentences like a smug little jester.

Tinfoil is my shining rival,

its metallic crinkling setting my teeth on edge.

“We buy any car” - a jingle, trolling

like a parasitic earworm.

A plastic-wrapped coconut,

as if its husk wasn’t armour enough.

Grammar pedants, holding the line of language,

not grasping their privilege.

Here I stand, besieged by trifles 

a sovereign of minor inconveniences

#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day4 #InLikeALion #WeatherPhenomenon

 

In like a lion

Most mornings start with Baris at my door, we talk about the weather, then talk some more. A community organiser and a Turkish cab driver - we’re birds of a feather, both natural strivers.

The sun on the journey feels hopeful and bright, but sleet at the barn sends tots inside. March comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb - the barn in between is a cheerful Bedlam.

By pickup, the sunshine has settled again; Baris just smiles, says it’s much better than rain. Strange how the weather can stitch us together - two different lives, held lightly by weather.

#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day3 #YouthWorkerApparently #MisunderstoodVocationPoem

“Youth Worker, apparently”

They say my job is

fannying around with table tennis bats,

checking the chalk for the pool table,

booking the minibus for Alton Towers,

as if that were the whole constellation

of what I do.

They picture me

leaning on a counter,

keys jangling,

laughing at renditions

of “Mockney Hallelujah”,

a sort of professional older sibling

with a petty cash tin.

But the truth is

I learned to read hunger

in the way a teen’s eyes flick

and five-finger-discount snacks;

the ones who haven’t seen

their social worker

since they were five

and have stopped expecting adults

to remember their names.

I learned that “behavioural issues”

are often just a young man

with additional learning needs

counting the cost of love,

because someone taught him

affection is transactional.

And that a year can break you

when migrant kids are accused

of things they didn’t do,

and the police officer in licensing

leans back in his chair

and tells you it’s sweet that you care

but none of your business.

As if care were a hobby.

As if those kids weren’t

my whole damn business.

That was the year

stress carved its initials

into my nervous system,

the year my seizure disorder

came back like an old debt

I thought I’d paid off.

The body keeps score

when the world refuses

to listen to concerns.

And still -

I showed up with the table tennis bats.

I checked the chalk.

I booked the trips.

#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day2 #ChildhoodMemory #HintWhoYouWouldGrowUpToBe #RedPlasticAlchemy

 

Red Plastic Alchemy

We lifted the seat of the red ride‑and‑go

its sacred hollow our cauldron.

With cupped hands, we carried rainwater,

mud, petals, the odd wriggling thing or two.

We stirred with sticks, serious as witches

before we knew the name.

Wayne, the eldest, wanted more;

I shushed him, trusted my rising five‑year crone.

We were our own triad,

one with summer, mischief,

no fear of consequence.

Lee, the youngest, our chief taster.

We fed it to him like a dare, like a spell.

The world paused.

He spat it out, ran off

on sturdy legs, laughing.

Decades later I claimed myself witch,

learning to ride hedges and guard the liminal.

Some of you didn’t make potions as kids,

and honestly it shows.

#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day1 #Tanka #BritishBlackBee

 

British Black Bee

Native British bee -

adapted to fickle skies.

Hardy through winter -

needs less food and thrives with change.

Save native pollinators.

Photo credit:
https://beeconservation.org.uk/blogs/news/the-british-black-bee-and-how-to-protect-it

Tanka itself a found poem from the text!