Poetry

Fiend

In the sable night's grim shroud, A fiend stalks the lonely moor, His breath a chill, his eyes like coal, He prowls where wary folk keep their door. With cloven hooves and

Barge

On quiet waters where the reeds sigh low, A sturdy barge glides, its paint a faded blue, Through lock and meadow, past the willow’s flow, It bears the labour of a bygone crew.

Whirl

In the quiet kitchen, the kettle sings a low whirl, Steam curls like a dancer’s skirt, a soft, silver swirl. Outside, autumn leaves catch the gust, a restless whirl, Spinning memories inward, where

Earth

Earth From rolling hills to deepest seas, The world turns slow beneath our feet, A tapestry of green and blue, Where life awakes in quiet beat. Mountains stand like ancient stone, Their

Donut

Round and golden, a doughnut delight, Fresh‑fried in the bakery’s warm light, Its sugary glaze catches the sun, A sweet, soft spiral, bite after bite. From jam‑filled centres to chocolate‑kissed tops, Each ring

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