Poetry
To Kill a Mockingbird
In the dust‑shrouded streets of Maycomb’s slow summer, A boy‑handed line of thought, ten‑plus‑two‑year‑old, Walks with Harper Finch, with courage tucked in his blazer, Through a world where justice lies stretched out like
Read more →The Sting
The Sting A bright‑blue flash in a meadow’s hush, the quiet hum of a bee in spring, its wing‑beat a whisper of fate— there, shadowed over a, red‑rimmed, petal‑ed ring. The sting: a single, glinting
Read more →Up
Up Up, the word that carries our breath on the wind, the first stretch of light over a town’s cobbled edge, where the sky greets the Thames in soft azure— a promise in every
Read more →Siren
In the hush of the moor at midnight’s bloom, a phantom shouts in silver wind – the siren calls, an echo wrapped in mist, a tender, torn refrain that takes the heart, makes
Read more →Vertigo
Vertigo A turn, a wobble, the world tilting in a silent polite swell—a teacup from the kitchen, spun by an unseen wind that whispers over the back of my neck. I clutch the rail of
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