Poetry

Crimp

Crimp— a gentle fold in the hair, a silver coil of wire, a pressed line upon the page, each bend a whispered prayer. In salons, tongs hiss low, waves rise like tide‑kissed dunes, while engineers with steady

Wince

In the hush of an empty theatre, a sudden note makes the audience wince, a sharp, bright sting that pricks the throat, like a splinter of glass caught in the throat’s seam.

Tangy

A zestful whisper on the tongue, Tangy fruits in summer’s song— Lime’s bright bite, a citrus spark, Lemon’s sharp, a daring mark. It dances like a cheeky dart, A piquant twist that steals

Drink

A cuppa steams beside the hearth, Its amber swirl a quiet mirth. Or perhaps a pint of bitter‑gold, Shared laughter rising, stories told. From tea to tonic, fizz to brew, Each sip a pause, the

Crank

In the workshop’s dim‑lit hush, The old crank turns with stubborn gush, A rusted arm that grinds the gear, Singing low for all who hear. Though folk may call him odd, a crank, He keeps

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