Poetry

Evoke

Evoke the hush of dawn, when mist drapes the hills in silver lace, and the first light tiptoes over the meadow, whispering secrets to the sleeping grass. Evoke the scent of rain

Table

Upon the oak, a quiet stage, Where cups of tea and biscuits engage, The grain recalls each whispered tale, A steadfast centre where hearts prevail. In morning light, the wood does gleam, A

Bacon

Bacon – a rasher of sunrise, Sizzling gently in the pan, Each strip a golden whisper of flavour, Crisp at the edges, tender within. It drifts on the air like a familiar

Globe

Upon the silent sphere of earth we trace, A blue‑green marble turning slow in space, Where oceans whisper secrets old and deep, And mountains guard the dreams that valleys keep. From bustling streets of

Chain

Chain In the dim morning light, a chain of mist Crawls over cobbled lanes, a silvery list Of moments linked, each link a breath, a sigh— A tethered tale that wanders, never shy.

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