Poetry

Oddly

Oddly the world tilts on a sideways grin, Where teacups hum and shadows wink within. A sock may wander off to find its mate, While clocks retreat to tea‑time, half past eight.

Whose

Whose fingers trace the moon’s soft veil, Whose sighs become the evening’s sigh, Whose laughter rolls down cobbled lanes, Whose tears collect in rain‑kissed gutters. Whose thoughts are whispered in the fog, Whose

Trail

On the quiet edge of the wood, a narrow trail winds through amber leaves, soft underfoot as the morning mist lingers like a sigh over the ferns. It threads between ancient oaks, their

Sauna

In the hush of timber‑clad walls, heat rises like a quiet hymn, steam curling through the pine‑scented air, a soft veil that wraps the skin. Bench‑worn bodies sit in patient stillness, muscles unwind,

Boxer

In the dim-lit gym where leather meets sweat, A boxer laces up his trusted gloves, Each breath a rhythm, each heartbeat a metronome, Preparing for the dance within the squared ring. He

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