Poetry

Tenth

Tenth On the tenth of March the frost still clings, A quiet hush beneath the leaden sky, When shadows stretch their slender, silver wings And whisper secrets of the days gone by.

Heart

In quiet chambers of the chest it lies, A scarlet drum, a steady, beating tide. It hums beneath the ribs, a whispered sigh, That pulls the blood through veins where life resides.

Flyer

Upon the notice board it lies, A splash of colour, crisp and bright, A flyer whispers of the night, Of jazz, of tea, of Saturday’s surprise. It folds itself in crisp white lines, Inviting passers‑by

Fiend

In the sable night's grim shroud, A fiend stalks the lonely moor, His breath a chill, his eyes like coal, He prowls where wary folk keep their door. With cloven hooves and

Donut

Round and golden, a doughnut delight, Fresh‑fried in the bakery’s warm light, Its sugary glaze catches the sun, A sweet, soft spiral, bite after bite. From jam‑filled centres to chocolate‑kissed tops, Each ring

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