Poetry

The Straight Story

The Straight Story A quiet road unspools across the Midwest, across county lines and some iron-slinging banks; there is no lane for dreams that twist and twine – just a single, steel‑plated trail that

Vogue

Vogue In the bruised‑green glow of a London twilight, the nearest catwalk unfurls beneath the City’s gable, its lights a choir of silver—slick and startling— calling all who dare to taste the season’s breath. Vogue

Rain Man

Rain Man Rain falls in quiet panes of glass, Murmuring the old London canals, Its droplets like whispered thoughts of Two brothers left in the same storm. In the gutter of an endless highway, A man

Gunky

Gunky In a hidden lane beneath a bruised‑blue sky, London’s gutters drip a gunky lullaby. A wretched colour, clotted with old peat, Its misted breath all the cradle of a spate. The runners

The Bourne Ultimatum

The Bourne Ultimatum In the smouldering mists of a London dawn, he strides with purpose, half‑in shadow— Jason Bourne, that ghost‑threaded phantom born, fighting with the world’s forgotten pawn‑ed list. The defence marshal’s flickering television, shows

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