Poetry
Dead Poets Society
In the flickering hush of that old‐fashioned Houghton‑like campus, the stone‑crusted walls seemed to chuckle at the ordinary. Mr Keating, with a grin that stole from the light‑hearted galleons of a far‑away Peruvian
Read more →Fargo
On a winter’s morning in Fargo the air is thin and rangy, The freeway lights flash like a row of white oaks in a blur. Above the flatlands a pale blue sky,
Read more →The Best Years of Our Lives
The Best Years of Our Lives In the gutter‑washed glow of Fleet Street’s streetlamp, we found our shy first steps, unshackled and bright. A diary, a jolly motoring‑class of life, we said “cheers” to
Read more →Erase
On the blackboard’s slate, the hand lifts the old‑rubber— A quiet, silver friend that knows the art of forgetting. The graphite lines sigh, absorbed by the play of light, And in that hush
Read more →Million Dollar Baby
Million Dollar Baby In the slick heat of a London‑sized sphere, the sound weaves beneath a ill‑founded dream: Maggie, a star stitched from grit and dust— the quiet persistence of a girl who won’t
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