Poetry

Snipe

In reed‑bed hush the snipe does rise, A flash of mottled brown and grey, Its long bill probes the soggy earth, While mist clings low at break of day. Bird watchers hold their breath,

Kim Kardiganashian

Kim Kardiganashian strolls through Hyde Park’s grey, Her silhouette a whisper ’mid the morning’s spray. She sips Earl Grey, a cup held close to chest, While double‑decker buses hum their quiet jest. The

Clunk

Clunk In the quiet of the workshop, a spanner slips from greasy hands, its steel kisses the concrete floor— a single, resonant clunk. It echoes like a distant bell, summoning thoughts of rusted gears, of locomotives sighing

Haverfordwest County

In Haverfordwest’s ancient heart, Where cobblestones recall the past, The River Cleddau gently parts The town from fields that breathe and last. Grey stone of castle keeps the watch, Its towers sigh above

Privy

In the garden’s shaded corner, A modest privy waits, its timber worn, Oak planks scarred by rain and thunder, A humble throne where thoughts are born. The door swings soft on iron

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