Poetry

Guardians of the Galaxy

Guardians of the Galaxy – a Distant Chord In the cold vastness where stars are born, They sail a rag‑tag ship, its hull a coloured scar. Our Peter Quill, a martian‑born charm, Broadcasts old

Roman Holiday

Roman Holiday In the hush of a Tuscan dawn, the city wakes from ancient slumbers, street‑lamps flicker on the cobbles like amber stars. The Tiber rolls, silver‑lined, an old cousin’s lullaby serenading the papal palaces. The

Mogul

Mogul In a glass tower that all London’s gaze follows, A man sits at the apex, where the skyline grows; His hand quivers not with dread but with promise, The ink on his cheque

Dog Day Afternoon

Dog Day Afternoon The sun hung low over the Thames, a muted gold that could blaze In the lane where the shutters still fall asleep. It was the kind of day that makes

Squad

The Squad In the dawn‑touched suburb, we align – a tidy squad, All see-through caps a‑glint against ‘mako’ night, We set it out where the town’s old clockwork hums, And in the bare nod

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