Nobody knows what Jonjo knows. Nobody knows but he,
So Jonjo took me for a walk and showed his world to me.

Spices and gold once cast a spell
On bearded men in caravels.

New World New World cried history
Old World Old World sighed every tree.

In our flat
faces speak
of places across the sea.

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

                   ...not white like the snow

more moon-panther or silvery cloud-cat

with her ripple-patterns melting as (oh,

but she's beautiful) you stare

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

The seagulls think we live at the seaside:
the tower blocks are their cliffs;
they swoop for fish in the gutter
but are happy that it's last night's fried rice.

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

We don' have a Springtime like some folk
Who live in dem colder place,
but we have a time when de soft rain come,
an' tease open de seedcase

I spied a small lonely boy.
I was his beautiful red balloon,
from morning through to noon,

Behind you
Windrush child
palm trees wave goodbye

above you
Windrush child
seabirds asking why

around you
Windrush child
blue water rolling by