Poetry

Aloof

In quiet corners of the mind, he stands, Aloof, as if wrapped in a woolen overcoat, His gaze drifting past the bustling market stalls, Where scones steam and tea is poured with care.

Tweak

My favourite habit is to tweak and tune, A quiet turn of the screw in thought’s repose, Each subtle shift a soft, sincere monologue, Turning the ordinary into something new.

Cable

Cables coil like serpents in the night, Their copper hearts humming low, a steady light, From street‑side ducts to homes they softly glide, Carrying whispers, songs, where thoughts reside. In lofts and

Salty

Salty whispers curl with tide‑kissed air, A briny breath upon the harbour’s sigh. Sea‑kissed shells and weather‑worn sails flare, Each grain a memory of ocean’s shy. From clifftop grass to fish‑market stalls, The

Child

In the hush of morning light, A small hand finds a mother's palm, Soft giggles echo like a chime, Their eyes reflect the sky's bright calm. Tiny feet patter on the wooden

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