I am always pleased to be asked to write a poem.

For me, poetry is the music of being human. And also a time machine by which we can travel to who we are and to who we will become.

The stars are filming us for no one.

I like to think that I'm a sort of poet for our times.

Where I lived - winter and hard earth.I sat in my cold stone roomchoosing tough words, granite, flint,to break the ice. My broken heart -I tried that, but it skimmed,flat, over the frozen lake.She came from a long, long way,but I saw her at last, walking,my daughter, my girl, across the fields,In bare feet, bringing all spring's flowersto her mother's house. I swearthe air softened and warmed as she moved,the blue sky smiling, none too soon,with the small shy mouth of a new moon.

Poetry and prayer are very similar.

My prose is turgid, it just hasn't got any energy