Poetry

Stung

Stung by the sudden sting of a summer bee, I reel beneath the amber sky’s soft gleam. The world, once calm, now hums with frantic glee, Each pulse a tiny, throbbing, crimson dream.

Sally

Sally steps upon the cobblestones, Her coat a soft, muted grey, Each footfall echoing gentle tones, As morning light begins to play. She hums a tune the wind hath stole, A lilting refrain

Erupt

Erupt From deep beneath the earth's thin skin, A rumble starts, a low, suppressed din. Then fissures yawn, the pressure breaks, And molten rivers, fierce, awaken. Ash clouds billow like dark, triumphant sails, While

Since

Since the dawn slipped quiet over the hills, Since the river learned to hum its old refrain, Since the sky turned from pewter to amber, And the sparrows took their leave in soft‑spoken

Pesky

Pesky little thoughts that tug at my sleeve, Like midges in summer that refuse to leave. They buzz around the kitchen, spoil my tea, Turn a quiet evening into a fussy spree. Yet in

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