Poetry

Gnash

Gnashing teeth in midnight’s hush, A restless jaw that won’t be hushed, Dreams of battle, fierce and raw, Where shadows gnash and spirits claw. Each bite a whisper, fierce yet frail, Against the

Birch

In the quiet glade the birch stands pale, Its silver bark a whispered tale, Against the sky a slender column, Rooted deep in earth’s soft loam. Leaves of green, like tiny coins, Tremble

Giddy

Giddy as a carousel in Battersea Park, My heart spins round like a teacup ride, Laughter bubbles up, a fizzy sherbet spark, And the world tilts, delightfully, wide‑eyed. I stumble on the

Verve

Verve bursts like a sunrise over Camden, A spark that leaps from pavement to the Thames, It hums in bustling markets, bright and random, Where laughter rings and every heart exclaims. It’s

Scrub

Scrub In morning light the kitchen sighs, A sponge awash with sudsy skies, It darts across the chipped‑blue tiles, Whisking away the greasy miles. The bristles knead the stubborn stain, Like tiny soldiers on

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