Feed my core.

A prose poem about my town hull.

…

A cold poem.

This is a poem about a blender, cutter and shredder.

Progress can never be achieved without creativity in all spheres of life. The poet weaves fabrics of inspiration with soulful dexterity; the musician enchants his audience through the medium of his instruments, the story-teller expresses the true representations of life fictionally. These are the outcroppings of love that emanates from the soul, adding spice to the otherwise bland concoction of monotony and depression.

Join me at this lovely setting.

We are all connected in some way. Remove one of us, and things fall apart.

The sounds, the feelings of love for the night market.

A poem about shutting out the world and living from within yourself.