Poetry

Vouch

When I vouch for you, I stake my word, A quiet pledge, a steady thread, Not shouted loud, but softly heard, Like rain that finds the thirsty bed. I vouch for truth

Hinge

On the quiet door of morning’s hinge, A silent swing begins— Metal sighing, softly pinching Old oak to welcome day. It bears the weight of comings, goings, Each turn a measured breath, A tiny

Money

In the clink of copper pennies, the weight of a pound feels both light and bold, a silver note slips from palm to till, whispering promises of queues and quiet dreams. We

Farce

In the cramped flat above the pavement, A knock‑about scene of unintended jest, When the postman trips over a stray biscuit tin, And the neighbour's cat launches a surprise protest. Letters flutter like startled

Badge

A tiny disc of metal, bright and keen, Fastened upon a lapel, a cap, a chest— It bears the mark of service, of the unseen, A quiet promise stitched in silver‑threaded vest.

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