Poetry

Broil

In the kitchen’s quiet hour, A skillet sings beneath the flame, Thin slices of beef lay low, Their edges catching amber glow. The heat climbs, a steady broil, Turning pink to caramel coil, Juices

Glentoran

Glentoran In Belfast’s heart where emerald pitches gleam, The Oval hums beneath a sky of grey, Red‑white stripes march on, a steadfast dream, As fans raise voices in the bright‑day fray. Through winter’s

Newington

In Newington’s quiet streets the morning light spills over brick façades, a soft amber hue, where the pavement glistens after a gentle rain, and the scent of fresh bread drifts from the corner

Bolton Wanderers

At the University of Bolton Stadium, beneath a sky that’s often grey, The Trotters march in navy and white, their hearts a steady beat. Supporters chant from the terraces, a chorus old

Sepia

In sepia‑toned memories, the world sighs, A quiet hush of yesterday’s light, Where faces smile in muted golds and browns, And time seems to linger, soft as old parchment. Each frame a

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