Poetry

Dally

In sun‑dappled lanes we linger, Time a slow‑melting toffee, sweet and thick, Hands idle, thoughts a wandering creek, We dally, dawdle, let the world tick by. Each moment stretched like cotton‑wool clouds, Laughing

Drape

In the hush of the old theatre, a heavy drape hangs solemn and still, its velvet folds a deep, muted colour, waiting for the curtain’s quiet thrill. It sways with the breath

Coven

In the hush of midnight’s velvet veil, A coven gathers ’neath the silvered moon, Their cloaks a rustle like autumn’s pale, Voices weaving ancient tune. Hands entwined, they trace the sigil’s seam, Chanting

Throb

Throb In the hush of night the city’s pulse Throbs beneath the pavement, low and deep— A distant lorry’s hum, a lover’s sigh, The steady beat of rain on a cracked pane. My

Blend

In the quiet kitchen at dawn’s soft hue, Steam curls from a pot where two teas brew— Earl Grey’s bright citrus meets Assam’s deep malt, A gentle blend that soothes the soul, unsalt.

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