Poetry

Mogul

Mogul In a glass tower that all London’s gaze follows, A man sits at the apex, where the skyline grows; His hand quivers not with dread but with promise, The ink on his cheque

Dog Day Afternoon

Dog Day Afternoon The sun hung low over the Thames, a muted gold that could blaze In the lane where the shutters still fall asleep. It was the kind of day that makes

Squad

The Squad In the dawn‑touched suburb, we align – a tidy squad, All see-through caps a‑glint against ‘mako’ night, We set it out where the town’s old clockwork hums, And in the bare nod

Beauty and the Beast

Beauty and the Beast In an old English manor, cold‑stone walls whisper tales, A beauty fair as spring, with courage bright and still, While in the shadowed corridors, a beast with heart that

Fail Safe

In the quiet rooms of the Ministry of Defence where the hum of servers is the only sound, there sits a small brass panel, a silent guardian. Its button, part of a white‑capped

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