Clara (Remove filter)
Whispers of Thornfield
On a rainy, silent night in Thornfield
the deserted streets, houses shrouded in fog
a town where time seemed to stand still
each shadow dancing beneath the flickering light
of the old train station
a relic of red bricks and worn wood
Clara Byrne waited
a young reporter, heart pulsating with mysteries
rumors swirling around her like the rain
about a train that departed at 11:59 PM
never...
Wednesday 9th October 2024 3:13 am
Recent Comments
RobertKirkpat on When did performance poetry get so serious?
21 minutes ago
RobertKirkpat on When Seamus Heaney met the Queen: an appreciation of the Nobel prize-winning poet and his allegiance to people and places
24 minutes ago
RobertKirkpat on 'What can writers and poets possibly do in the age of Trump, Farage and Starmer?'
28 minutes ago
Uilleam Γ Ceallaigh on Farewell, Your MAGAsty!
1 hour ago
Rolph David on There Was a Blind Man...............
1 hour ago
Rolph David on Where is THIS Jerusalem?
1 hour ago
Rolph David on Where is THIS Jerusalem?
2 hours ago
Rolph David on Where is THIS Jerusalem?
2 hours ago
David RL Moore on He remembers her now
2 hours ago
New Shoes on Golden Days In the Eternal City β Rome
3 hours ago