Poetry

Bad Hare Day

Bad Hare Day In a meadow where the daisies sigh, A clumsy hare decides to try A hop that’s off‑beat, a leap awry— He lands in puddles, mud and sky. His

Forth

Forth we step into morning’s hush, The river’s silver thread we trace, Each footfall sings of quiet push, A promise wrapped in time and space. We journey forth with steady heart, Through mist and light,

Stoke

Stoke In the hearth’s low glow, I kneel to feed the flame, With dry kindling and a whisper of coal, Each breath a bellows, each gesture a claim That warmth will rise,

Ballymena United

Ballymena United, red and white, Under the floodlights of the Showgrounds bright, Fans chant in chorus, hearts beat true, Each tackle, each goal, a town's view. From the terraces to the distant hill, The club’s

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

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