Poetry

Overt

Overt as the stain upon your shirt, That bloomed at lunch—a puddle of hurt— You dab and dab with fervent prayer, While strangers stare and point right there.

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

Shank

In the butcher’s stall the shank lies pink, A humble cut where bone and sinew link, When slow‑cooked low, it yields a tender sigh, Melting like dusk beneath a grey‑blue sky, Serve with rosemary,

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

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