Poetry

Brand

Upon the shelf, a name takes hold, A whispered promise, bright and bold. It is not merely mark or sign, But stories spun in cotton twine. From factory floor to city street, It walks in

Curve

On the quiet curve of the river, the water sighs, a silver ribbon, soft as a lorry’s tyre on wet pavement, turning the world gently round. A lover’s smile arches like a bridge, each glance

Moldy

On the windowsill, a patch of green‑black mouldy bloom, A fusty whisper where the rain has seeped and loomed. It creeps like quiet lace across the old wooden pane, Turning fresh bread to

Blink

A blink – a whisper of an eye’s swift sigh, A fleeting pause that stitches night to day. In that brief shutter, worlds collide, then fly, Like starlight caught within a breathless sway.

Witty

Wit In a bustling market stall, Where traders shout and children call, A stall‑holder with a gleam in eye Offers banter as he sells his pie. He says, “My crust is flaky, true, Just

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