Poetry

Goldfinches

In the hush of a spring‑morndey hedge A flutter of gold lifts hue from the hedge. With feathers bright as a dawn‑kissed rose, The goldfinch gleams where the seedlings grow. Its beak, a tiny

Boats on the river

On the winding riverbank the dawn unfurls, A silver hush of mist that curls and curls, The river’s breath in quiet blue, And boats that glide, their hulls a subtle hue. A barge, its

Rhubarb crumble

Rhubarb Crumble In a flour‑streaked kitchen, the afternoon sighs I snip the bright stalks, a ruby‑red surprise. The spoon dives into room‑temperature jam, Pastel‑yellowed leaves arranged in a caramel‑clad plan. Baking, with the

Computers

The Tangled Pulse In the dim glow of a quiet office the silver shells of servers hum, a low‑frequency lullaby of blinking LEDs that sings in silicon and binary. The desk‑mounted laptop whirls its fan, its

Politics

The Parliament Game In the blue‑lit chambers of Westminster where the old stone walls gossip in echoes, the MP’s words turn to fire‑bright wagers and quiet hushes, like candlelight, grow. The House of Commons, a

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