Poetry

Knockbreda

Knockbreda In the quiet hush of Knockbreda’s lanes, Where ancient oaks stand guard like steadfast neighbours, Morning light spills amber over tarmac, Painting each cottage roof in honeyed gold. The bus rumbles past,

Flint Town United

In Flint's red brick streets where the Dee runs near, Flint Town United wear their colours dear. From Cae‑Sân they march, a steadfast crew, Their hearts beat loud in sky‑blue hue. Through winter’s bite

Norwich City

At Carrow Road the green and yellow fly, The Canaries sing beneath a Norfolk sky. Their hopes rise like the tide upon the Broads, Each pass a whisper, every tackle lauded. A

Stuff

Stuff In drawers and corners, hidden neat, The bits we call our little “stuff” – A jumble‑sock, a faded sheet, A toy that’s lost its grin enough. It gathers dust upon

Birmingham City

Beneath the soot‑kissed sky of St Andrew’s stand, Where claret streams like rust through winter’s rain, The echoes chant a loyal, steadfast band— A city’s heart that beats through joy and pain.

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