William has a poetry collection coming out in 2012. With Bloodaxe, no less. It is called The Soft Green Dandelions of the heart, and is notable, not just for the spare beauty and deft imagery of it's contents but for the fact that, to my knowledge, this is the first time that a Guinea Pig's poetry has been taken seriously in Ireland. William will soon join such trailblazers as Mrs. Pumpkin, who was the first guinea pig to have a play, Brocoligarchy and the rock of Cabbages staged in the Abbey (as late as 2008, would you believe) and Spectacles, whose novella A Guinea for your thoughts ('a heady blend of surrealism and poignant fact') was shortlisted for the man-booker in 2003. I am excited to be able to share with you some of the poems that didn't make it in to William's book.
Piece by flashing piece,
I nibble sparingly,
my gullet is the centre of delight for but a moment.
Why can't I have more cabbage?
Why Can't I Have More Cabbage?
why can't I have more cabbage.
I used to be able to climb the stairs.
I amn't anymore.
I tripped and fell down two steep steps at once.
And I got scared.
But someday soon.
If you hold up a dandelion,
I will approach and hoist aloft my rump and
feel the fear
but lose it in the rush of knowing that the possibility of dandelions
I hold my grudge as though it were
the lover you won't buy me.
I had a friend,
a soft, tuxedoed friend.
We had fun together,
nibbling, smelling, squeaking,
repeatedly asserting sexy dominance.
Simple, Simple, Simple Guinea things.
And now he's gone, I'm being fed cucumber
I don't want. I don't want this cucumber no, not now,
now what I wants my friend. But since he's dead and gone,
I'll have a nibble.