I write in form and free verse. I write about: the landscape around Goole in East Yorkshire, music, childhood, houses, the news, ideas.
In Bach, at least, and probably elsewhere,
God does not exist at speed,
You stumble across Him,
Slowly, as you sight read.
Which is a good excuse, never to practise to sight read fast,
Because you can’t catch God,
When he’s whizzing past.