Poetry

Soupy

In the kitchen’s amber glow, A pot of broth turns soupy slow, Vegetables swirl in creamy tide, Steam ascends, a fragrant guide. Each spoonful whispers comfort’s hymn, Warmth embraced, a soupy whim.

A caterpillar named Colin

Colin the caterpillar, humble and small, Creeps through the lettuce, his favourite sprawl. His body is striped in shades of jade, A tiny explorer in the garden’s shade. He munches the leaves

Wager

A wager on the wind, a flutter of chance, A punter’s hope tucked in a leather‑bound satchel, The bookie nods, his chalkboard eyes alight, Stakes laid like quiet promises upon the green, Each roll

A slug named Ernie

Ernie the slug, so slow and slick, Leaves a silver trail across the brick. Through garden paths and dewy grass, He glides at dusk, a quiet mass. His shell‑less coat, a glossy

Joist

In the quiet hush of a timbered attic, A joist lies low, a humble beam, Its grain a map of patient years, Whispering the weight of every dream. It bears the floor that feet

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