Poetry

Clyde

Clyde rolls through the Highlands, a silver thread, Where mist clings to the heather and the lochs are spread. His waters whisper tales of old clans and wars, Carrying the scent of peat

Edinburgh City

Edinburgh’s ancient walls whisper through the mist of Arthur’s Seat, where volcanic stone meets Scottish wind, and history walks the Royal Mile in tartan threads and piped refrain. The Castle crowns the basalt

Divot

On the fairway's emerald stage, A divot lies, a modest scar, Where club met turf in quiet rage, And left a crater, faint ajar. The greenkeeper, with careful hand, Fills the dent with

Southend United

Roots Hall on a Saturday, Where the Thames winds wide and grey, Blue Army voices raise a song, Where the Shrimpers fight and belong. From the shrimping boats of yore, To the terraces we roar, Estuary

Knockbreda

Knockbreda In the quiet hush of Knockbreda’s lanes, Where ancient oaks stand guard like steadfast neighbours, Morning light spills amber over tarmac, Painting each cottage roof in honeyed gold. The bus rumbles past,

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