Poetry

Shush

Shush! A soft sigh slips between the pages, A hush that curls like steam From a teacup left to cool, And in that quiet the world leans closer, Listening to the rustle of thoughts That dare

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

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

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