A mail from fmk points towards the imminent arrival in the UK of the Tour de France, which kicks off this year in London on July 7, and suggests a poem about cycling. "I know," he says, "going for content is wrong of me - poetry should be about poetry first and content last - but I'm just such a literalist sometimes and I love themes."
So do we, fmk, so do we. He discards offerings from "famous Seamus", Rita Ann Higgins, David Malouf and Louis MacNeice in short order - "they just miss what cycling is actually about". Instead, he suggests Judith Nicholls' Biking.
Fingers grip, toes curl; head down, wheels whirl.
Hair streams, fields race; ears sting, winds chase.
Breathe deep, troubles gone; just feel windsong.
Which he calls "very simple, probably too simple for the scalpel-wielding dissectors ... a workaday Ronseal poem."
I agree wholeheartedly that it does an excellent job of capturing "the joy of tear-assing down a hill on a bike".
Don't forget to email sarah.crown@theguardian.com with your suggestions for next week's poem.
