Poetry

Naval

Upon the restless sea the navy sails, White‑capped and keen beneath a greying sky, Her hulls of steel and timber kiss the gales, While pennants flutter where the gulls still fly. From

Focal

Focal In the glass of morning’s eye, a single point, Where light converges, a soft‑focused gleam, The world contracts to that still, shining joint— A hub of colour, a quiet, steadfast scheme. It

Rebut

In the quiet court of thought, I stand, Where voices rise and arguments expand, Each claim a thread that seeks to bind, Yet I prepare to loosen, to unwind. I hear the charge, the

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