Poetry

Epoch

Epoch In the slow turning of stone and sea, An epoch sighs beneath the weight of time, Where ancient rocks remember glaciers' breath, And fossils whisper in the limestone’s rhyme. Each layer a

Usher

In the hushed half‑light of the theatre’s nave, An usher glides, a quiet steward of the night, His coat a shade of deep‑emerald, his steps suave, He welcomes souls with patient, gentle light.

Prove

In quiet labs the scholars sit, With chalk‑dust thoughts they slowly knit, Each hypothesis a whispered plea, To prove the truth that eyes can’t see. Yet love, a theorem none can chart, Needs

Vodka

In a crystal glass the clear spirit gleams, A whisper of wheat, a silent stream, Neat or chilled, it warms the throat, A frosty kiss from Moscow’s note. Raise a toast to nights that

Rogue

Rogue In moon‑lit alleys where shadows conspire, A rogue wanders, heart set afire, Not bound by law nor the tidy decree, He dances on edges where wild spirits flee. His laugh is a crack in

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