Poetry

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

Aloof

In quiet corners of the mind, he stands, Aloof, as if wrapped in a woolen overcoat, His gaze drifting past the bustling market stalls, Where scones steam and tea is poured with care.

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.

Route

On the winding route through misty hills, Footsteps echo where the old railway sighs, Each bend a story, each gate a thrill, The world unfolds in quiet, steady skies.

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