Poetry

Weedy

Weedy thoughts drift like thin green tendrils, Through cracked paving stones of a city lane, They clutch at the sun with pale, hesitant fingers, Seeking a crack where light might remain. In

Crest

Upon the swell of azure tide, the wave’s soft crest, a frothy crown, it lifts and sighs, then gently slides, in silver lace it wears renown. A hill’s broad back, where heather

Foamy

Foamy whispers rise and fall, A silken crown on amber’s call, In kettle’s sigh or sea‑kissed spray, Each bubble dreams the day away. It crowns the latte, shy and sweet, A frothy veil

Sorry

Sorry, a quiet word that lingers Like rain on a London pavement, Softening the edges of harsh goodbyes, A breath held between heartbeats. We whisper it when the teacup clinks, When the tea

Elbow

In the quiet hinge of arm and forearm, The elbow bends—a modest, sturdy joint— Where laughter echoes when the funny bone’s struck, A secret pivot that lets us reach, embrace, and throw. It flexes

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