Poetry

Curve

On the quiet curve of the river, the water sighs, a silver ribbon, soft as a lorry’s tyre on wet pavement, turning the world gently round. A lover’s smile arches like a bridge, each glance

Moldy

On the windowsill, a patch of green‑black mouldy bloom, A fusty whisper where the rain has seeped and loomed. It creeps like quiet lace across the old wooden pane, Turning fresh bread to

Blink

A blink – a whisper of an eye’s swift sigh, A fleeting pause that stitches night to day. In that brief shutter, worlds collide, then fly, Like starlight caught within a breathless sway.

Witty

Wit In a bustling market stall, Where traders shout and children call, A stall‑holder with a gleam in eye Offers banter as he sells his pie. He says, “My crust is flaky, true, Just

Plain

On the quiet plain where horizons sigh, A sea of grass rolls soft beneath the sky, Gold‑tinged stalks whisper in the gentle breeze, While distant hills keep watch like ancient trees. No

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