I have a little mouse called Arthur
Who gnaws away inside my bones
He is armed with sharp incisors
And metal claws on all his toes.
His love was a raindrop
In the lonely desert sand.
The place that once was me,
Setting me free,
A woman gave part of her soul
That the being she created could be whole
Then having physical and spiritual form
As the sun arose a child was born.
I was born on the banks of the old river Tyne,
Where it wends its way east to the sea.
Past the pit heaps and coal tugs; the clang of the shipyards
Created fond memories for me.
Iron pipes that pierce the skyline.
“Forsooth maid, ” spake he,
“Hear now my true words.”
This varlet of a bygone age,
This sage, with heathen tongue.
A Glossa in honour of William Blake.
Colin Curry came acourting
Comely Countess Caroline
Craving cuddles, cool caresses
As a child I dreamed of a fairy wood
Where I could visit, as each child should;
To learn of elves and castles of light,
Where witches brewed spells and flew in the night.
The world is my oyster, how shall I consume it,