Poetry

Pager

In the pocket of a coat it hums a quiet tone, A tiny silver box that calls when duty’s known. Its soft‑red light flashes, a rhythm like a heart, Summoning the night‑shift crew

Forest Green Rovers

In the quiet valleys of Gloucestershire’s roll, Where ancient oaks whisper and rivers sigh, Stands a club whose heart beats a verdant soul— Forest Green Rovers, where earth meets sky. Their jerseys, a shade

Shone

In the quiet dawn, the horizon shone— a thin, amber seam where night slipped away, each blade of grass catching the colour of hope, and the world paused, bathed in gentle, golden glow.

Sheffield Wednesday

Owls upon the Sheffield sky, Where the city's heartbeat lies. Hillsborough's slope, the Kop's loud cry, Underneath the Yorkshire sky. Blue and white, the colours worn, Through the rain and summer sun. From the glory days

Waken

Waken, the world sighs into light, A hush of dew on meadows bright, The sparrow’s call, a soft refrain, Stirs sleepy hearts to rise again. From pillow‑soft to cobblestone street, Morning unfurls its

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