happy

The Book Bag: Wonderful by Harry Baker

Well the week started well and continued in the same vein. Sunday saw us head back to the allotment (and me saw down a rosemary tree that was starting to push onto the greenhouse) while the weather held off, then I attended the online launch of Merril D. Smith’s new collection, I signed a contract extension at work, saw some meteor action and I harvested our garden crop of Jack-be-little pumpkins.

I also found time to write what I think is one of my best pieces of the year, sent off a submission, and realised I’d lost edits my on a poem I really like. I’ve also started planning for 2026.

On top of that, I’ve been reading;

Wonderful

  • Poet: Harry Baker
  • Press: Burning Eye Books

Harry Baker feels like a poet who doesn’t need an introduction, a superstar poetry performer and previous champion of the World Poetry slam, with a huge following and profile who is a genuinely decent human being.

One of Harry’s superpowers is his ability to inject humour and heart into his poetry. The collection is filled with upbeat, warm and funny poems. I found myself smiling while reading pieces including ‘An Ode To Postcodes’ especially the line on NE1 (a Newcastle postcode) and ‘Things I Learned from Interrailing’.

The book balances the joy and happiness with reflections on serious matters. The poem, ‘Trying’ really hit me hard and in my opinion is such an important piece from a males perspective. Beneath the humour and metaphor, the book explores themes including masculinity in the piece ‘Wellies’ and coming to terms with mortality in the excellent ‘Sunflowers’.

Another of Harry’s strengths is his wordplay and punnery. One of my favourite poems of the collection, ‘Sticky Toffee Pudding’ does this incredibly well. As a performance poet, Harry can identify and incorporate language that will both work well with live audiences and on the page itself.

In terms of form, there are rhyme pieces, free verse, list poems and a few interesting styles, one that I had not encountered before which I may attempt. ‘As’ which is written with the Macao constraint, the poem ‘Ingrid’ (another of my favourites) is a univocalic using only the letter ‘I’. A very impressive piece.

The variety in this collection gives it a wide appeal to readers who are or aren’t already familiar with Harry Baker. If you like a poetry collection that makes you feel happy and warm inside, this is a book for you. If you like clever wordplay, this is a book for you. Wonderful is a charming, engaging book that brought me joy (I wrote that in the section of the book that allows you to record what brings you joy).

Favourite Poem:
I’ve mentioned ‘Sticky Toffee Pudding’ and ‘Ingrid’  as favourites already but I’ll also add in ‘Home’, ‘Trying’, ‘A Bed Shop Called Dreamland’ and ‘Wonderful’. To be fair the poems in this book are all exceptional.

If you want to learn more about Harry Baker click here. Also, I would recommend following his Instagram account.

You can buy Wonderful here.

Are you looking for the playlist? You are, aren’t you? Well, here it is, a happy eclectic mix to listen to alongside reading Wonderful.

Pharrell Williams – Happy
OutKast – Hey Ya
Len – Steal My Sunshine
The Cardigans – Lovefool
Björk – It’s Oh So Quiet
Eminem – Mockingbird
P!nk – Get The Party Started
Will Smith – Getting Jiggy With It
Taio Cruz – Dynamite
Michael Giacchino – Theme From Mission Impossible
Marcus Mumford & Tom Howe – Ted Lasso Theme

Before I Go…
There’s less than a week left to submit to After poetry. Details here. An excellent opportunity to be published on a highly respected platform.

One More Thing…
There’s still time to submit your gothic pieces to Broken Spine Art’s callout for an anthology being published in 2026. Details here.

And Another…
Remember to help boost your favourite poets and presses this festive season by sending over details for the Christmas Gifts Guide that will be published at the end of November. Details here.

And Another…
Ice Floe Press are now open for submissions until November 18th on the areas of Process / Marginalia / Otherworld. Full details here.

And Another…
A new Poetic Voice will be coming to The Book Bag from Saturday. Catch up with October’s Poetic Voice, the exceptional Carson Wolfe here.

And Finally…
I’m enjoying reading for Frazzled Lit, a reminder that the submission window is still open until Friday October 31st 2025. Details are here, send your best work.

Next Week’s Read

  • Title: Held Inside The Folds Of Time
  • Poet: Merril D. Smith

Take it easy and stay poetic, I’ll catch you next week.

Paul

The Calm of Boxing Day Morning

Holding hands in fresh gloves
we walk the Winter woods;
it’s quiet on Boxing Day morning;
probably too many bad heads sleeping it off.

The essence of Chris is still hanging in the air,
from the tall pine sentries lining our route,
watching us in the scarves wrapped around our faces;
the same scarves muffling our voices,
and the words we get wrong,
singing the Christmas songs everyone knows.

We ask each other to name their favourite part of Christmas so far;
I say spending time with you;
I know I say the same thing every year but it’s the truth;
and you say the same.

I’m lost in your hazelnut eyes when snow begins to fall;
I wonder what it would be like to be frozen in time;
right here, right now, in this very moment;
but when the soft snowflake hits my cheek;
I wake up from my festive fog,
and we walk on
– destination unknown.

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and Festive Good Fortune,

Paul

Good To Me

From the sea glass
you smuggled me home
from the beach
I built a cairn
a tiny megalith
in honour of those
who in my history
have had a positive influence
some I still know now
others are silhouettes
billowing in the breeze
of my memory
smooth-edged like the shards
and when light rebounds and refracts
among the edges
glinting blue psychedelia
I find myself floating
staring upwards
lost in a soliloquy
for my soul.

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. I have many other pieces of writing available to read on my site, plus there are links to publications featuring my work, so feel free to have a look around.

Take It Easy

Paul

Welcoming Back The Wild Things

I stopped watching the news
after the third week of decimating death
and morbid press briefings
it had become statistically gratuitous

instead, I watched
the playing fields
opposite the front door
start to overgrow
welcoming back the wild things –

discarded council lawns
no longer littered by
kids from the secondary school
and couples walking their dogs –

I observed the radiant whimsy
in a family of deer
frivolous in the pre-dawn haze
dancing among the tall grass
rose-gold fur in soft focus

impressive were the foxes
drifting around the wildflower verges
almost hidden in the dusky milk-light
gorging on the rodents
next-doors cat couldn’t catch

I chuckled at
lopping chestnut-hares darting
among the hedgerow
scaring the bullfinches
from the
rosehips and brambles

until now
I never really appreciated
the nurturing noises of nature
notably the cresting and chirruping birdsong
against the percussive branches
of council-planted beech trees

ever since opening the door
to the nurture of nature

– life feels gratuitous.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem, written about something positive that happened during the peak of Corona in the UK. I hope you enjoyed. As always,feel free to leave a comment I love reading and replying.

Have A Great Day,

Paul

Hope, Bottled

I remember how
my hand fit into yours
with welcoming ease
and the warmth of your skin
heated my tepid fingers
as we walked along the beach

the North Sea was trembling with chilling intensity
– as we skimmed stones
plucked fresh from champagne-gold sand
they wisped over waves
their light friction warming the water
and calming the sea

I told a joke about blushing lobsters and seaweed
you laughed because it was so bad
and the frame of your face
lit up the dusky sky
better than the distant hilltop fire beacons
could ever hope to

I’m hoping this has all has gone to plan –
that some years have passed –
and our hands still fit each others
that the message I buried in this bottle
is not lost to the tide
like so many other romances
and we’re reading this in the spot
where we sat and snuggled that night
stargazing at the peach-kissed setting sun on the horizon

      – because I know that I will love you forever.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem dedicated to my beautiful wife, Christine.

Take it easy,

Paul

Answering Doors

Opportunity rasped
repeatedly at my door
knuckles bloodied, bruised and broken
until they were incapable
of knocking again
I chose to open up
once silence fell
with head bowed
I took it’s palms in mine
and healed sores with words
‘Why didn’t you answer ?‘ Opportunity asked
and in my mind
the truth was told
– ‘there are far more deserving than I‘.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. I hope you enjoyed it. If opportunity knocks, always answer because it may take you to places you could only dream about.

Take It Easy

Paul

Great Grandad Grandstand

I remember the things I learned
watching Grandstand on Saturday afternoons
at my Great Grandad’s house
like the rules of snooker, darts
and horse racing
how to pick a winning horse out the newspaper (look at the jockey)
sound like Woody the Woodpecker
how to use a mangle to dry out clothes
still steaming from the old washing machine
I found that snuff tobacco was minty
and cured a sniffle
that I preferred my squash diluted
and scotch eggs and ‘black bullets‘
are the food of kings
The most important thing
he taught me and many others
           – was kindness.

Although Grandstand Saturdays came to an end
I still keep what I learnt
sacred in my mind and heart
except the food
I eat that.

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. A little letter to my Great Grandad who used to have me round when I was a kid.

Take It Easy

Paul

Sunday morning rituals

of filter coffee and croissants warm and buttery
lazily absorbing Saturday’s news through inked fingers and papercuts
whilst audibly inhaling songs from the twentieth century
we wear chunky scratching knits
and chunkier cotton socks that fill
well worn walking shoes
with rusted suede uppers
we fill noisy metal bottles
with water filtered through plastic beads
then tightly pack them into
a roll away backpack
awaiting adventure
that beckons from paths littered with burnt leaves
and forest floor detritus
our casual meandering scored with the sound
of mulching mud under rubber soles
the scurry of squirrels and swaying branches
memories made and recorded in 16:9 high definition
then the return voyage home
in time to prep a veritable feast
but that’s a ritual, i’ll keep to myself.

Thanks for taking your time to read this poem. I love hearing your thoughts and any feedback you may have.

(Image: taken from Canva)