Poetry

Jiffy

In a jiffy the kettle sings, Steam curls like a shy cat’s tail, Time folds itself into a thin slice, A breath, a blink, a fleeting hail. We sip the moment, strong

Scoff

In the quiet of the pub, a scoff was heard, A derisive laugh that slipped from cracked lips, Like rain on cobblestones it stirred the curd Of cheer, and turned the mirth to

Dolly

On a dusty shelf in Granny’s attic, A rag‑clad dolly waits with stitched‑on smile, Her button eyes have seen a hundred Christmases, And lullabies sung in a soft, Scottish while. She’s tucked

Paint

Upon the easel, blank and white, A brush in hand, the artist takes flight— Swaths of cerulean, vermilion, gold, Spread across the waiting canvas bold. Each stroke a whisper, each hue a

Scent

A whisper lingers on the breeze, A subtle hint of rosemary, It drifts through gardens, past the trees, Awakening the quiet reverie. The scent of rain on cobblestones, Petrichor, a damp perfume, It weaves

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