Poetry

Fifty

Half a century, a golden tide, Fifty years on life’s winding road— Sun‑kissed mornings, evenings wide, Stories etched in every load. From childhood’s laugh to wisdom’s gleam, Each scar a map, each dream

Riper

Riper than the morning dew on autumn’s hedge, The pear swells soft, its skin a blush of rose— Each curve a promise, each sigh a pledge That sweetness waits where patient amber glows.

Sweat

In the hush of dawn, beads of sweat glisten like dew, Each drop a quiet testament to effort’s hue. They trace the map of labour upon sun‑kissed skin, A salty chorus singing where

Stage

On the creaking boards of the old theatre, Lights spill amber like sunrise over a sleepy town, Actors tread the stage, their voices a quiet hum That swells to a chorus, then fades

Ninth

Upon the ninth day of September's sigh, The leaves turn amber, a quiet rustle, As the school bell rings its familiar chime, Children in neat blazers tread the cobbled mile. In music's

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