Fire under footfall.
Fire over skies.

Fire on a matchstick.
Fire in my eyes.

Fire holding hunger.
Fire seeking wood.

Fire hiding danger.
Fire feeling good.

I like to stay up
and listen
when big people talking
jumbie stories

I does feel
so tingly and excited
inside me

A little bit of rice,
a little bit of pea,
on my plate
for my tea.

A little bit of jam,
a little bit of toast,
in the mornings
when I love it most.

The living room remembers Gran dancing to Count Bessie.
The kitchen can still hear my aunts fighting on Christmas Day.
The hall is worried about the loose banister.

How many books have you written?
Have you been writing for years?
Where do you get all the paper?
Where do you get your ideas?

We goin' on a school trip today,
De whole class goin' to Whitney Bay,
Ah teckin' me ball an' bat with me
To play beach cricket, an' let me see,

My love is like a well-read book
which makes me smile each time I look.
It shouts and whispers, roars and sings
it grounds me and it gives me wings.

'On buses and trains you wouldn't believe
The crazy things that passengers leave:

A pair of crutches, I kid you not,
Hot-waterbottle, full but no longer hot

A stranger called this morning
Dressed all in black and grey
Put every sound into a bag
And carried them away

This is the city:
buildings, buses, trains and cars
concrete, metal, bricks and glass
houses, lights and cinemas
shops and offices and bars