The feather spun downward
Through the changing skies
Into our hands
As the clocks move
...
I write my work at the coffee table
My steaming cup, words chased and followed
The table of times searched and read
I look within my heart for my words as map
...
What flag falsely flown could tell
What colours could show
What talk could unfurl
Whose to spell out our name
...
The apple does not fall far from the oak
Old English Proverb
Those old folk were Columbus's
...
I grew up in Forest gate
Where Henry VIII went
Hunting, his name a gate.
I went to Elmhurst School
...
My spine a book let me tell you
There was the fracture of my back
Dislocated from past I travel
Back on track through jointed map
...
I write of the things that connect us
Words on threads
Pathways in the garden
We are closer than you think
...
Met you at Stratford Theatre
Behind the facades backstage
You gave me your number
Trips to White City council estate
...