Poetry
12 Years a Slave
The Long Span In a village of iron‑bound hearts, the land was a grid of green and bruise; his name, a syllable of iron, was carved into the oak of the days that
Read more →Waist
At the Waist In the silent span where shoulder meets hip, the waist holds stories, a quiet, measured script. It's the seam in a dress, the buckle on a coat, a whisper of a
Read more →The Grand Budapest Hotel
The Grand Budapest Hotel In a copper‑coated city hung on a river bend, the Grand Budapest Hotel glives as a pearl‑amid‑pearl built of amber stained glass, its wrought‑iron steeple bluffing an old‑world regime of
Read more →Blade Runner
Red Glass and Grey Skies In the wet souped‑up streets where the high‑street lorries skid, the air tastes of burnt petrol and electrolite. Neon signs flicker in steel‑black colour, casting a jaundiced glow over
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Among In the murmur of a morning tea, where kettle spills its steam to the left and right, among is the quiet underspace that holds the cup, the saucer, the universe of
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