Poetry

Blame

In the hush of evening’s amber glow, A whisper slips through the cracked pane— A thin, relentless thread of blame, That winds itself around each vein. It settles on the shoulders of

Regal

Regal crowns of amber light, Glistening upon a velvet night, Sceptre raised in quiet pride, Where history and honour glide. Palace halls with tapestries deep, Whisper secrets that kings keep, Throne of oak, in

Squat

On the gym floor I drop to my knees, A humble squat, the world in freeze. Thighs like oak, back straight and true, I lower slow, then push anew. The bar rests

Moose

In the hushed glades of northern woods, A moose strides slow beneath the cloud‑spun hoods, His antlers wide as ancient branches spread, A crown of timber where the moss is fed. Through

Worse

Worse When the sky turns a sullen grey, And the rain drums a relentless beat on the pavement, Each step feels heavier, the queue longer, The world seems to tilt, a shade more dismal. Thoughts

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