Poetry

Bristol City

Bristol’s streets hum with a quiet pride, Where the Avon winds past the old harbour’s tide. Clifton’s suspension span arches high, A steel‑threaded sigh against the sky. Street‑art whispers on brick and

Bonnyrigg Rose

Bonnyrigg Rose, a blush of Scottish dusk, Petals unfurl like whispered lullabies, Crimson threads stitch the heather‑kissed hills, Where thistles sigh and burnet breezes sigh. In garden nooks where old stone walls

Couch

On the well‑worn settee, the fabric sighs beneath my weight, soft cushions cradle like a promise, their threads a quiet, familiar weave. Evening light slips through the curtains, casting amber pools across the

Crusaders

Crusaders Upon the sun‑baked hills of distant lands, Where golden dunes meet ancient stone, The Crusaders ride in steel‑clad bands, Their banners snapping like a solemn hymn. With hearts aflame for faith and holy cause, They

Everton

Goodison’s blue and white stand tall, Where Toffees roar beneath the sky— A chorus sings of battles fought, Of triumphs forged in Everton’s cry. From Dixie Dean to modern days, The spirit pulses,

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