Poetry

Aliens

Beyond Aether In the hush of the night‑sky, a wanderer glides, Past the crescent hiss of the old Compton rig – A plume of silver, not formed in our tides, Travels when the Thames

Racer

On the saw‑dusted track of Donington, the racer’s silhouette cuts the dawn with a hairline of paint on a slick of chrome, each tyre whispering a promise of lightning. He grips the wheel like

Amadeus

Amadeus In the quiet of the Hall of the Archive, the notes of Mozart rise like amber light, each phrase a plea, each chord a quiet shrine, the genius of the eighteenth‑century night. A boy

Chasm

In the Shadow of the Chasm A dark fissure lies beneath the old county wood, Its sides carved like the throat of a weather‑worn whale. The mist gathers in the crevices, quiet and

Coco

Coco, in the Park On a drizzly Sunday, the sun half‑mussed in clouds, I took my leash‑chain, heart in a courage thick‑punch, and we ambled through the park where the cobbles glowed under the

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