Poetry

Float

Upon the still, blue‑tinged pond, A feathered leaf begins to float— A soft, slow pirouette of thought, Where water sighs and light devotes. It drifts past reeds that whisper low, Past minnows flicker,

Trait

Trait A quiet seed in mind, it grows— A habit, bent, or favoured pose, Whether it be the patient tread Of one who waits in every queue, Or sudden spark that lights the

Flood

When the heavens open with relentless rain, Rivers rise, their voices a low, angry refrain. Streets become mirrors, reflecting the grey sky, While gulls wheel above the swelling tide. Sandbags line the

Froth

Froth crowns the morning cup, a delicate lace, Silver‑white islands drifting on steaming brew, Each bubble a sigh, a fleeting, gentle grace, That lifts the aroma, softens the view. In the pub’s

Manor

In the hush of twilight’s amber gleam, The manor stands, a stone‑bound dream, Its turrets rise where ivy clings, A silent hymn the soft wind sings. Pan‑glassed windows catch the waning light, Reflecting

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