Poetry

Witness for the Prosecution

Witness for the Prosecution In the hushed marble of the High Court’s great hall, a stack of evidence sits in neat piles, the ripple of a fore‑court transcript as the judge opens his gavel‑faded

Memento

Memento – a quiet whisper of the past, a worn silver key in a pocket of memories, a scrap of paper, ink still trembling with the colour of time. It is the moment

Sunset Blvd.

Sunset Boulevard Where the amber lamps throw long shadows on the boulevard, Cars glide like steam‑whetted carriages past Hollywood’s glittering façade, The scent of summer mutters from a roadside stall of cotton‑eyed cornflakes; The

Sully

To Sully In the quiet lane of Brixton’s maze, There lives a man called Sully, or so the locals say. His beard is neat like a well‑trimmed hedge, But in his eyes a storm,

Raiders of the Lost Ark

In the dust‑laden heart of the Sahara, the wind whispers in a deep, ancient colour. A favourite of dusty journals, a bravado, the legend of Raiders of the Lost Ark takes flight.

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