Poetry

Gone Girl

In the quiet of a London suburb, the kettle sang a weary tune, she left a tea‑leafed note – a kiss on an empty bowl – a whisper in the hallway, “Gone.” The street was

Haste

Haste In the cobbled lanes of yesterday’s city, where the old rail line still hums a forgotten night‑song, hasten comes like a sudden turn of a wind turbine, leaving the hawthorn with a dented

On the Waterfront

On the Waterfront By the narrow pier that baffles the grey sea, the old boats lean on the reclaimed boardwalk, their sails bruised by a thousand salt‑crusted nights. A lone figure, cap snug, walks

Jaws

Beneath the mist‑swept glow of a tidal town, the river’s silver ribbon hums a quiet verse, and somewhere beneath its calm, a shape lurches— a massive maw, a jaw that catches every breath. It

Cacti

A Quiet Bulb of the Sun In a quiet corner of a London greenhouse, the cacti stand—fortress‑like sentries of light, their spines a pale‑gold colour that catches the noon, while I sip tea and

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