Poetry

Mafia

Espresso dark, the morning air lay thick Beyond the narrow alleys of Palermo's heart, Where silk-suited men moved swift and slick, Their laughter sharp as stilettos, playing their part. No flashing neon, just a

Blackpool

Blackpool’s promenade sighs beneath a gull‑kissed sky, Where the Tower stands like a steadfast lighthouse, Its iron bones humming with the low‑drone of tram wheels, Whilst holidaymakers wander, sticky‑fingered, Towards the scent of salt

Burton Albion

On the banks of the Trent where the crowds gather, Burton Albion’s Brewers march on with pride, Their amber and black stripes fluttering like a banner Over the Pirelli Stadium, where hopes reside.

Newry City

In Newry City where the Clanrye sighs, Beneath the watchful eyes of Mourne’s blue hue, The old canal still whispers through the skies, Reflecting centuries in waters true. Cobbled streets recall a

Thumb

In the quiet of a morning flat, A thumb rests soft upon the glass, Leaving a warm, amber print— A silent signature of touch. It hitches rides on lorry backs, Points north when

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