Poetry

Whirl

In the quiet kitchen, the kettle sings a low whirl, Steam curls like a dancer’s skirt, a soft, silver swirl. Outside, autumn leaves catch the gust, a restless whirl, Spinning memories inward, where

Earth

Earth From rolling hills to deepest seas, The world turns slow beneath our feet, A tapestry of green and blue, Where life awakes in quiet beat. Mountains stand like ancient stone, Their

Donut

Round and golden, a doughnut delight, Fresh‑fried in the bakery’s warm light, Its sugary glaze catches the sun, A sweet, soft spiral, bite after bite. From jam‑filled centres to chocolate‑kissed tops, Each ring

Crane

On misty marshes a crane does glide, Feathers of slate, a quiet pride. Long legs like stilts o’er reed and rush, It watches waters with patient hush. At dawn it lifts, a

Kazoo

A humble kazoo, of tin and thin membrane, Whispers a buzz where song would claim, With just a hum, a breath, a sigh— It turns our voice to comic sky. In pubs

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