Poetry

Abbot

The Abbot’s Quiet Vigil In the mist‑kissed cloister of the old abbey, the abbot quiets the world with a gnarled staff, his cloak, a woolen sweep of autumn’s warm hue, every thread a story

L.A. Confidential

L.A. Confidential In the smouldering glow of the City of Angels, the night drapes itself with noir‑tinted colour, a lark‑winged wind rattles the shutters of old palaces, and every back‑alley whispers a favourite crime.

Oppenheimer

Oppenheimer’s Shadow In the desert’s blinking heat the gun‑metal sun swallowed White Mesa, while the night‑shrouded H‑rooke men whispered “There are no truths that lie behind a grill of ro‑blight.” He, who lectured

Some Like It Hot

Some Like It Hot The lanes are coppered in the moonlit tinge, London’s street lamps humming soft and low. Two hearts in brass and dream, a strange arrange – They turn a

Green Book

Green Book In springtime’s embrace, the page is locked in leaves of the earth’s own green, A parchment map that hums the quiet pledge of “Here on the road you’ll see.” Its ink,

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