Poetry

Shaky

On the edge of a trembling tide, a shaky breath slips through the night— leaves quiver like hesitant thoughts, and shadows waver in pale moonlight. A hand that falters on old railings, a

Mauve

Mauve whispers over twilight’s hush, A shy bloom where violet and rose entwine, Painting the hills in a dusky blush, Like silk unfurled in a twilight line. It lingers on the hem

Dogma

Dogma – a stone‑set creed, etched in stubborn, iron‑clad seed, its doctrines stand like ancient walls, unyielding through the shifting calls. Yet minds, like rivers, wear them down, each ripple cracks the solid

Slang

Slang In the street‑corner chatter, where the crowd does press, A secret code of words, a lively, restless press— “Cheeky” mates and “gobsmacked” tales, “sorted” and “bloke,” All bobbing like a bobby’s hat in

Jelly

In the kitchen’s quiet hush, a bowl awaits, A ruby‑red wobble, trembling like sunrise on the sea. Spoon‑kissed, it sighs, releasing sweet perfume, A gentle quiver that dances on the tongue. Jelly,

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