Poems for Elvis Sihoi


So much worries

Run through my mind,

He becomes too big

To sit on my lap,

He runs too fast

To catch him

And stroke his

Little cheeks

He turns into a bird


Wishing to explore the world

That opens

In front of his eyes

I’m afraid

Of losing him.


This poem was written after Beehive Poetry night at Josef's K cafe. I listened to an Iranian poetess Samar Shahdad two poems which she translated in English. She seemed to me so amazing poetess my poems appeared nothing against her poems in my understanding. So this poem came into my mind.  

I read it at Rhubarb Poetry Night, at The Triangle pub, Shipley, Bradford, England on 27/03/24 and in the Serendipity Extraordinary Ordinary anthology book launch at Lawrence Batley Theatre on 21/04/24.

I won’t be remembered as a poet here. I’ll be forgotten - quietly.

Sun will fade my name away and dust will cover its footprints.

They won’t read my poems. I wasn't famous here.

From pages where blue ink will leave evidence of my presence, 

They will make airplanes

And kites.

But maybe somebody will remember me 

As a guy who hung out with a kid 


Somebody might say, the boy was his son.

Famously named as Elvis.

I might be remembered sitting in a café’s corner

And talking to him in a foreign language.

I might be famous 

For a split of a second

In somebodies memory for letting Elvis

Wrap his little arms

Around my neck,

Putting his crumpled paper tissue,

Silver teaspoon and ruler

behind my terracotta jumper

While somebody else were reading their poems




This poem was quoted at Batley Library, Batley Poetry evening on 18/11/23, England

I am the sun

 That rises up 

 Before you,

 I am the morning dew 

That always 

Feeds you,

 I am the dusty road

 That leads you,

 And it's all 

 Because of you.

 You are my heartbeat,

 You are my meaning,

 You are my daylight,

 And it's all 

 Because of you.



I created this poem being inspired by the workshop ‘Blue is the light that got lost…’ hosted by Gaia Holmes. Kings Cross Library, Halifax, England. I attended it on 09/03/24.

 I read it on Beehive Poetry evening at Josef's K Cafe in Bradford on 15/04/24 and in the Serendipity Extraordinary Ordinary anthology book launch at Lawrence Batley Theatre on 21/04/24.

The light goes off,

Smokey blue overlaps gold.

I can’t see him,

His voice,

His breath,

His hushed moves,

Tells me,

He is there.

He feels secure

Seeing my

Pitch blue shadow,


Lazily cracking chair,

My voice

Singing him a lullaby,

He falls asleep,


I’m next to him.



The poem is written at Gaia Holmes’s workshop at King Cross Library, Halifax 

He looks at me with blueberry in his hands

Rolling it in his tiny fingers

Being not aware it might drop on the floor,

Not knowing that his mum might burst into a scream of horror

Seeing pressures berry being wasted

He smiles and laughs singing La-la-la

He shakes his legs. His trainers clatter on the floor.

His eyes deep brown as blueberry in his little hands

I see he is reading my eyes maybe musing

They look like grey berries. His little heart

Absorbs the juice of love and happiness

And I can see he cannot have enough of the safety he receives from my eyes.