Poetry

Cheer

Cheer is a soft, warm light that slips Through winter mist and soggy streets, It lifts the shoulders of the grumpy And turns a frown to brightened beats. In cosy pubs where

Early

Early In the hush before the city stirs, a pale light tiptoes over rooftops, soft as a whisper of tea steam curling from a chipped mug on the sill. The world holds its

Clone

In a quiet lab, beneath the humming lights, A single cell awakes, a twin in waiting— Identical in code, yet yearning for its own spark, A mirror that dares to dream beyond the

Hunch

A hunch, a whisper in the quiet mind, A flicker of the unseen, half‑formed, half‑blind. It tugs at thoughts like mist upon the Thames, A subtle pull that sways our secret aims.

Forty

Forty candles flicker, a modest blaze, On the mantle where the years have lain, Each flame a whisper of the days That slipped through fingers like soft rain. In the garden, roses

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