Poetry

Visor

Upon the crown of everyday wear, A stiffened brim— the visor— lies, Guarding eyes from sudden glare While sun climbs high in English skies. It shades the brow of cyclists keen, Of cricketers

Tacky

In a shop of plastic rainbows, Where neon ties and sequined bows Hang like cheap confetti on a dull day, We call it tacky — bright, absurd, and gay. Yet somehow it pulls a

Uvula

A tiny pendant in the throat’s soft keep, The uvula dangles, a shy, pink bead, Guarding the gateway where breaths and words sweep, A vigilant sentior where food and air are fed.

Inner

Inner In the quiet chambers of the mind, Where thoughts unwind like soft-spun thread, A lantern flickers, gentle, kind— Its glow the secret places fed. Here feelings nest, both fierce and

Swell

Upon the shore the tide begins to swell, A rolling hush of silver‑blue that tells Of distant winds that sigh across the main, And lift the gulls in lazy, graceful strain. When hearts are

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