Poetry

Dough

Ode to the Dough In the dim kitchen light where the oven's glow watches, I knead the humble earth‑swept mixture, a quiet tale of yeast‑made wishes. Soft and breathing, the dough curls like a sleepy cat

Plead

To Plead In the dim glow of a London street‑lamp, I stand and utter a quiet, earnest plea, A soul uncut, a heart that knows no dam‑t. The night, a silvery mirror to my

Clamp

In the workshop’s humming hush, a steel‑clamp grips, Its jaws like loyal sentinels, firm on timber’s lip. Turn the screw, hear the soft sigh of pressure, Binding planks as mates in a quiet

Water under the bridge

Water under the Bridge The Thames once ran wild beside the old stone arches, Its silver fingers scrabbled between the cobbles; Now river‑creek has settled into quiet, The water a soft lull, a hush

November rain

November Rain In the damp hush of a London dusk, rain drifts from the bruised clouds—soft, relentless‑as‑a‑secret. Each drop is a pale silver shard, marching southward upon the pavement’s bleak face and turning

• The Friday Fun British Test
• Dilbert Archives