Poetry

Treat

A Treat In the hush of a rainy afternoon, the kettle sighs, steam curling like a sigh, and on the china plate rests a humble delight— a warm scone, split, its crumb tender as

Twang

In the corner of a battered flat, an old guitar leans against the wall, its wooden belly sighing with rain‑kissed air, ready to give a sudden, bright twang. A finger flicks the

Glean

In the hush of morning fields, we wander low, Where amber stalks bow beneath a soft, grey sky, Our baskets empty, hearts a‑yearning glow— To glean the bounty that the earth lets lie.

Alien

In the quiet hush of a midnight sky, A silver shape drifts beyond the clouds, Its eyes like twin moons, reflecting thought, A whisper of worlds we’ve never trod. It steps upon

Rhyme

Ode to Rhyme In quiet rooms where ink takes flight, We seek the favour of a matching sound, A neighbour’s whisper, soft and light, That turns a thought to hallowed ground.

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