Poetry

Haven

In the quiet hush of dusk, a harbour sighs, Where gulls retreat and tides lay down their weary prize. A cottage, low and stone‑clad, sits upon the sand, Its windows warm with amber

Gross

Gross is the splash of cold water on a sleepy morning, the sticky film that clings to a forgotten biscuit, the sour tang of milk left too long in the fridge.

Spoof

A mischievous grin, a whisper of jest, A spoof that twists the serious to jest. From parodies of pomp to satire’s sweet bite, We laugh at the mimicry, day and night. In

Stack

Upon the desk a quiet stack, A tower of dog‑eared books and paper‑back, Each spine a muted hue of brown and cream, A humble mound where dreams and thoughts redeem. In fleeting

Lever

Ode to the Lever In workshops old and modern halls, A humble lever answers calls. With effort pressed on its long arm, It lifts the load, disarms the harm. The fulcrum stands, a

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