Poetry

Barry Lyndon

Barry Lyndon In a time draped in lace‑rimmed streets and the soft hum of eighteenth‑century parlours, a lad of rough coat and quick wit set his eyes on fortune’s green‑stained promise. He began in

V for Vendetta

Echoes of the Veiled Mask In the cold haze of midnight, a figure drifts through the city’s veins, A torch‑sheathed silhouette against the soot‑scarred glass. Sporting a Guy Fawkes face in crisp neon

Miser

The Cautious Tick of the Miser In a tiny flat at the corner of Holloway Street, Lives a man who counts every penny with a steady beat. His wallet is a vault, his

Inside Out

Inside Out In the attic of my mind, where thoughts do curl and curl, A film‑ish stage unfurls – a circus of my inner world. Joy, the brightest candle, flickrs in a cricket‑white

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Three Billboards, Three Lamentations In the quiet gutter of Ebbing, Missouri, a trio of billboards bulge against the plain, bold as a brass kettle on the streets of Birmingham. Moira, fiercely determined, has

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