Poetry

Leafy

In the hush of morning, leaves unfurl their jade, A canopy of verdant whispers overhead, Sunlight filters through the emerald canopy, Painting the earth in dappled gold and shade. The rustle sings

Smash

Smash Upon the cliff‑edge where the Atlantic sighs, A grey‑green wall of water rises high, Then, with a roar that splits the restless skies, It hurls itself – a sudden, thunderous sigh. The

March

March tiptoes in on a chill wind’s sigh, Grey clouds unfold like tired parchment, While daffodils thrust their golden heads Through frost‑bitten earth, reluctant to yield. The days grow longer, a hesitant

Voter

In the hush of morning, a voter walks slow, Past shut‑up cafés and the grey‑stone row, To the polling station where the queue does form, A quiet promise against the storm. With

Grout

The grout's a humble, gritty mate, Not flashy, but it holds the slate. In bathroom white or kitchen blue, It's where the patient work comes through. You mix it up, a paste so thick, With

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