Poetry

Racer

On the saw‑dusted track of Donington, the racer’s silhouette cuts the dawn with a hairline of paint on a slick of chrome, each tyre whispering a promise of lightning. He grips the wheel like

Amadeus

Amadeus In the quiet of the Hall of the Archive, the notes of Mozart rise like amber light, each phrase a plea, each chord a quiet shrine, the genius of the eighteenth‑century night. A boy

Chasm

In the Shadow of the Chasm A dark fissure lies beneath the old county wood, Its sides carved like the throat of a weather‑worn whale. The mist gathers in the crevices, quiet and

Coco

Coco, in the Park On a drizzly Sunday, the sun half‑mussed in clouds, I took my leash‑chain, heart in a courage thick‑punch, and we ambled through the park where the cobbles glowed under the

Avoid

Avoid In the quiet corners of a fog‑kissed street, I turn my face away from neon glare, From honest crowds that rush like winter’s heat, I walk the path where soft footsteps

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