Poetry

Squat

On the gym floor I drop to my knees, A humble squat, the world in freeze. Thighs like oak, back straight and true, I lower slow, then push anew. The bar rests

Moose

In the hushed glades of northern woods, A moose strides slow beneath the cloud‑spun hoods, His antlers wide as ancient branches spread, A crown of timber where the moss is fed. Through

Worse

Worse When the sky turns a sullen grey, And the rain drums a relentless beat on the pavement, Each step feels heavier, the queue longer, The world seems to tilt, a shade more dismal. Thoughts

Fifty

Half a century, a golden tide, Fifty years on life’s winding road— Sun‑kissed mornings, evenings wide, Stories etched in every load. From childhood’s laugh to wisdom’s gleam, Each scar a map, each dream

Riper

Riper than the morning dew on autumn’s hedge, The pear swells soft, its skin a blush of rose— Each curve a promise, each sigh a pledge That sweetness waits where patient amber glows.

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