Poetry
Guess
A Syllable of Uncertainty In the dim‑lit corridors of the mind, where thought tip‑taps the edges of doubt, the whisper of a guess slides in— a jaunty, half‑measured gambol of fate. It is no timid
Read more →Every day should be at least partly Friday
Every Day Should Be at Least Partly Friday Whether it’s a lunchtime stroll, a crumpet on a bench, or the hum of the tube, let every dawn whisper a
Read more →Warrior
The Warrior’s Oath In the mist‑cloaked vale where old iron churns, A young blade rides to meet the dawn’s cruel glare; Through cistus‑wrenched streets, his purpose burns— Not for glory’s crown, but for people’s
Read more →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,
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