Poetry
The Sixth Sense
The Sixth Sense In the hush of midnight trains, a whisper calls my ear, Not of wind or timetable, but the pulse that runs near. A shimmer emerald between the long‑plotted lines, Like a
Read more →The Thing
The Thing In the pale glow of a forgotten harbour, where cold iron waves drop silver bruises on the earth, there lingers a shape, a silent, thin‑spanning hush— the Thing that shivers beneath every
Read more →Spool
Spool A twisted wheel that keeps the world on track, A silent keeper of skin‑thick tape, A battered little cylinder turned in the flicker of a lamp, Its quiet face a guardian of the
Read more →Christmas Eve
On Christmas Eve the streets grow still, the firelight flickers, honey‑sweet and old – a hush of wool, a winter blue, a dream, and everywhere the quiet hums like gold. The market
Read more →No Country for Old Men
No Country for Old Men The sun lies low over the whispering plains, a copper stretch where dust and gravity braid. No quiet road for tired, aching knees, only the not‑so‑gentle bustle
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