Poetry

Puppy

In the garden’s morning glow, A fluffy pup with ears aglow, His paws patter on the dew‑kissed grass, A tiny heart that beats amuse. He chases squirrels, his tail a flag, Sniffs out

Manchester City

Sky‑blue dreams in Etihad’s glow, Manchester City, where passions flow. From Moss Side streets to Premier League’s roar, Each chant a tide, each goal a lore. Silk‑smooth dribbles, a pianist’s touch, De Bruyne’s vision,

Crude

Crude In the black tide of North Sea rigs, crude oil sighs beneath the sky, a viscous whisper of ancient seas, where steel and salt in labour lie. It flows through

Emcee

On the stage of the old theatre’s marquee, the emcee steps forward, microphone in hand, a grin as bright as the footlights’ gleam, ready to weave the night’s commandeered plan. With a

Southampton

Southampton, where the Solent sighs, A harbour town of steel and tide. From ancient Bargate’s stone‑crowned walls To modern quays where liners glide. The Old Town whispers cobbled tales, Of Pilgrim Fathers, wartime

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