Poetry

Queen of the South

She reigns where sun‑kissed tides embrace the sand, A crown of coral woven ’round her hand. From rust‑red dunes to jade‑green lagoon she calls, Her sceptre sings with trade winds’ distant calls. In every

Ruler

Upon the oaken desk, the ruler lies, A slender strip of boxwood, marked in centimetres, Its edge a quiet judge of length and truth, Each line a silent pledge to measure. When

Dundee

On the banks of the silvery Tay, Where Dundee awakes to the morning grey, The clang of the looms once filled the air, Jute threads woven with hope and prayer. Now the

Remix

In the heart of the city’s underground theatre, Where vinyl sighs and synths entwine, A DJ lifts the needle, daring to remix Yesterday’s anthem into tomorrow’s pulse. He flicks through crates like

Sheffield United

At Bramall Lane where the steel city dreams, Beneath the Towles' watch, or floodlit beams, Red and white stripes cut through the grey, Where Blades have fought for another day. The Kop's a roar,

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