Poetry

Scrooge

In the dim glow of an old‑fashioned streetlamp, Mr Scrooge shuffles with his brass‑trimmed coat, His eye a fraction dimmer than a rabbit‑stomach lamp, And his knuckles clutch the ledger’s brittle note. He

Anatomy of a Murder

In the quiet room of the morgue the light is dim, An investigator’s breath held, nor their footfalls hymn. The body lies—still‑stone of flesh, a silent crime, A sketch of a murder by

Guava

The White‑Sculpted Guava In a sleepy, sun‑lit corner of southern Peru, a tree bears a fruit, white‑coloured as glass, its skin a faintly bruised, almost‑tawny hue, a mellow perfume that perfumes the pass. Its flesh

JFK

Ode to a Shadowed President In the hush of the Atlantic‑breeze, Where the flutter of his silk‑smoky coat Met London’s fog‑kissed bridges, JFK rode a gilded tide of hope. He spoke in syllables keen as

Soul

Beyond the bone‑bare shell of flesh where pulse and breath run through our veins, there lies a quiet, restless body that Britain’s storm‑choked hills once called its own. It sings in the hush of

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