Poetry

Flyer

Upon the notice board it lies, A splash of colour, crisp and bright, A flyer whispers of the night, Of jazz, of tea, of Saturday’s surprise. It folds itself in crisp white lines, Inviting passers‑by

Droop

In the quiet hush of a British summer’s afternoon, the sun‑kissed heads of the garden’s favourites begin to droop, their golden crowns bowing low as if in polite apology to the sky.

Crone

She walks the lanes where moss clings to stone, A crone with eyes that hold the dusk’s own tone. Her hair, a silver veil, whispers of time, Each strand a thread in the

Fiend

In the sable night's grim shroud, A fiend stalks the lonely moor, His breath a chill, his eyes like coal, He prowls where wary folk keep their door. With cloven hooves and

Barge

On quiet waters where the reeds sigh low, A sturdy barge glides, its paint a faded blue, Through lock and meadow, past the willow’s flow, It bears the labour of a bygone crew.

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