Poetry

Trill

In the hush of dawn a trill takes flight, A silver thread of sound that weaves through light, Each note a kiss, a quick, bright chase, Where heart and feather meet in grace.

Reset

Reset I realise the hum of circuits fade, A silent programme steals the shade, I press the key, feel currents cease, And find a moment’s gentle peace. The screen goes black, a velvet

Penny

A penny lies upon the pavement, Small, copper‑tinged, a quiet token, It gleams beneath the grey‑blue sky, A whisper of the world unspoken. In pockets it has travelled far, From market stalls to

Wrest

In the hushed arena where muscles gleam, Two bodies meet, a silent, straining dream— A twist, a pull, the ancient art to wrest Each limb a question, each grip a quest. The

Stink

The kitchen window sighs, a damp and mouldy veil, Where yesterday’s fish curls in a silent, oily wail. A whiff of burnt toast lingers, sharp as sour regret, While old trainers whisper secrets

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