Poetry

Llama

In the high Andes where clouds cling like wool, A llama grazes, soft‑footed and cool, Its fleece a tapestry of earth‑tone hue, A quiet sentinel beneath the blue. With gentle eyes that

Lousy

Lousy – a word that drags its heels through a drizzle‑slicked pavement, the sort of day when the sky feels like a grey woollen blanket pulled too tight. Your tea turns bitter, the toast

Nasal

In the quiet hush of morning light, A twitch within the nasal way, A scent of damp earth, of tea, of rain, Stirs memories in muted grey. The bridge of bone, a

Imbue

Imbue In quiet rooms where thoughts take flight, You imbue the dawn with gentle light, A soft infusion, quiet, deep, That wakes the hues that shadows keep. Each breath a pigment,

Coral

Beneath the sapphire tide they lie, A quiet garden, soft and sighs, Where coral colonies gently spread, Their branches like delicate lacework threads. Polyps in quiet communion thrive, Each tiny architect, alive, Secreting limestone,

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