Poetry

Check

A quiet pause, a moment’s check, The hand that lifts, the breath that steadies— A simple tick upon the list, A whisper of assurance, soft and mild. In corridors of thought we

Deity

In the hush of ancient hills, a deity sighs, Whispering through mist‑cloaked vales where thunder lies. Eyes like polished amber scan the shifting tide, Hands that mould the dawn, where night and day

Hover

Hover In the quiet hush of twilight’s sigh, A kestrel lingers, wings outspread, A silver thread of breath held high, Where earth and sky are softly led. Below, the meadow hums

Fuzzy

Fuzzy thoughts drift like cotton wool, Wrapped in a jumper soft as cloud, Edges blur in twilight’s hush, A blanket of warmth, comforting and proud. In the quiet, the world feels gently indistinct, A tender

Award

A gleam upon the shelf, a modest prize, A quiet testament to steady hands, It catches light in muted, humble guise— Not gaudy fanfare, but the quiet stands Of effort woven through the daily

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