Poetry

AFC Wimbledon

In Plough Lane’s hushed twilight, the Dons arise, A phoenix reborn from Wimbledon’s past, Their claret and blue a steadfast disguise, Against the giants, their hopes steadfast. From Kingston’s roar to the

Salford City

Salford City On the banks of the Irwell’s steady flow, Where old mills once sang with the clang of steel, Now glass towers catch the northern light, And reflections dance upon the water’s sheen.

York City

York City – a tapestry woven through time Roman walls still whisper beneath the cobbled lane, Where legionaries marched, now cafés spill steam, And the scent of fresh‑baked scones drifts on

Livingston

Livingston – a name that whispers of the West, Where once the hills lay soft in heather’s sigh, Now streets of concrete stretch and softly rest Beneath the watchful eye of cloud‑lit sky.

Etude

Etude In quiet rooms where practice sighs, A single phrase repeats its sighs— Each note a careful, patient thread, A weave of sound where doubts are shed. The fingers trace the

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