First, months

of flash, thud, shudder,

then the wailing...

                            Months,

that's half a young cat's life

Kids in camouflage sprint and stumble through smoke,

their faces smeared with blood and dirt.

It’s a burnt-out city with kids tearing into enemy lines,

no weapons,

Let's take a walk

around the park,

but please don't forget

that you have to bark.

No matter what you

want to say,

Just watch, think and bark,

okay?

Not many people in the park,

nobody near enough to hear me,

if I say a poem or two.

So I do.

Look at the train
Look at the train
Look at the train,
the train, the train!

Rattling by
Clackety-clack
at the back of the houses
up on the track.

My Gran was a Caribbean lady
As Caribbean as could be
She came across to visit us
In Shoreham by the sea.

There is a place (believe me,

            she said) where if, if

                          you go beyond

the street lights, to the lane's end,

In our flat
faces speak
of places across the sea.

In our flat
voices walk in
talking, but not like me.

I spy with my London eye

Big Ben telling the time

as these thoughts like the River Thames

flow through my mind

Thoughts of love for my city

Thomas Farynor, Baker to the King,
Left his oven burning with the firewood nearby.
The embers muttered, the little flames took wing