Poetry

The Godfather Part II

Blooded Helix From Coney Island’s cold steel to Sicily’s sun‑baked olive trees, the same ticking blood rides two ceaseless lanes, a double‑layered carob‑brown tale where Vito and Michael meet. The elder, a

The Dark Knight

The Dark Knight In alleys where the railings creak like mice in a maze, the night unfurls its velvet shroud over the old city’s maze— pavements weary, teeming with the soft thud of

Bleat

In the hush of a first‑light pasture, the old‑timed bleat flutters over sheaf‑filled loam – a lilting knock‑out of a lamb’s thin plea, singing the county’s taste of crook’d green. It echoes from the

12 Angry Men

The Twelve in the Room A square of a classroom‑bar, so stark and still, the fire‑escape’s iron tie—cold to the wind. Three‑quarter‑not‑quite as “fingers‑crossed”, the men sit, faces unknowingly split by a case. It begins

Pulp Fiction

Pulp Fiction in a Colourful Grain In a quiet diner, two men sit for a bite, One tilts his camera, the other watches light. The conversation drifts in waves—“What’s the name of your

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