Poetry

Laser

In a quiet lab the night hums low, A thin, fierce beam of light begins to glow— A laser, pure and steady, draws its line, Slicing darkness with a photon’s design. It

Blimp

Above the sleepy English fields it drifts, A silver whale of cloth and gentle lift, Its gondola a quiet, labour‑kissed nook, Where clouds unfold like pages in a book. The sun imbues

Whiny

Whiny whispers drift through the afternoon, A plaintive sigh that lingers in the air— Each complaint a soft, persistent tune, That drags the sunshine into sullen glare. It slides across the kitchen

Louse

On the scalp’s soft hidden plain, A tiny louse creeps, thin and plain— A speck of life in nit‑filled hair, Its six‑legged march beyond compare. It feeds on blood, a quiet bite, Leaving

Serum

In the quiet lab, a vial glows, Serum holds the whispered hope, A pale elixir, clear as Thames, Where science meets the patient’s sigh. Each drop a promise, quiet, keen, To mend the flesh, to

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