Poetry

Micro

Micro whispers in the quiet night, Tiny worlds unseen to naked sight. A drop of dew holds galaxies— Each bacterium a star, each spore a dream. In the lab’s hushed glow, the

Bulky

Bulky In the corner of the flat, a sofa sighs, its cushions swelling like a weekend tide, fabric stretched over springs that groan when a eager dog leaps up to claim his pride. A winter

Leggy

Leggy In the quiet garden where dew still clings, A shoot pushes up, slender and long, Its stems a whisper of jade, Leggy in their eager reach for sun. Like a dancer on

Tweak

My favourite habit is to tweak and tune, A quiet turn of the screw in thought’s repose, Each subtle shift a soft, sincere monologue, Turning the ordinary into something new.

Cable

Cables coil like serpents in the night, Their copper hearts humming low, a steady light, From street‑side ducts to homes they softly glide, Carrying whispers, songs, where thoughts reside. In lofts and

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