Poetry
The Deer Hunter
The Deer Hunter In the mist‑laden moor where oaks grow tall, The hunter slips beneath the summer bower, A silhouette against the evening pall, His breath alight with the crisp night’s sower. On
Read more →Leach
The Quiet Leach In the hum of a Yorkshire spring‑cockle, Black loam gleams beneath a speckled heap, A thin‑rim glass of rain is set to creep, And will its silvery tongue through earth aspire.
Read more →The Third Man
The Third Man In the grey‑lit alleys of post‑war Vienna, the city still reeks of steam‑clouded nights, Max and Harry linger in a shared apartment, their shadows long as they chase the lingering tide
Read more →Paper Moon
Paper Moon In the hush of a rain‑slick London evening, a child’s crayon‑smudged moon rises— white paper folded with trembling fingers, glimmering with a silver hope that refuses to fall. It hangs, a quiet defiant
Read more →All Quiet on the Western Front
On the iron‑clad fringe where scar‑red wind stands, The trench‑filled land, where fallen feet meet sand, I walk in ghost‑lit dust of rifle‑fire’s breath— A weary hush where German drill met quiet death. In
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