Bryan Procter

Oh, the summer night, Has a smile of light, And she sits on a sapphire throne.

Death is the tyrant of the imagination.

So mightiest powers buy deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be!

I'm in this music duo called Moors.

The ground we walk on, the plants and creatures, the clouds above constantly dissolving into new formations - each gift of nature possessing its own radiant energy, bound together by cosmic harmony.

It's disturbing at my age to look at a young woman's destructive behaviour and hear the echoes of it, of one's own destructiveness in youth.