Poetry

Glyph

In the hush of script’s quiet realm, a single glyph awakens— a whisper carved in ink or stone, its curve a secret, softly spoken. It dances on the parchment’s breath, a loop, a

Whoop

Whoop In the misty glade where the heather sighs, A sudden whoop breaks the twilight air – A call that climbs over fells and sky, Like a stag’s proud bellow, fierce and fair. Children on

Inter

Inter In the quiet hush of morning light, thoughts interlace like river streams— each ripple a whisper, each eddy a sigh, weaving patterns that no eye can see. Hands reach across

Cinch

A soft leather band that hugs the horse’s side, Holding the saddle firm where reins and hope collide, It tightens with a gentle pull, a quiet grip, Turning restless nerves to steady, sure‑footed

Voice

In the hush of dawn, a voice awakes, Soft as mist that drifts across the lake, It hums through reeds, a gentle sigh, A lullaby that paints the sky. It carries words

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