Poetry

Flume

At the holiday funfair the flume gleams, a silver chute twisting through sun‑lit mist, queues of laughter snake like river reeds, while water rushes, bright and bold, beneath. Riders plunge, hearts splash

Larne

Larne’s harbour sighs beneath a slate‑grey sky, Where fishing boats return with silvered tide, Their nets a‑glint like thoughts that wander by Along the wind‑kissed cliffs where gulls have cried. The railway

Valve

In the quiet workshop, brass sings, A valve turns, a modest hinge, Guarding flow with patient might, Opening, closing, day and night. From steam‑kissed railways to the heart’s own drum, It whispers where the liquids

Dumbarton

On the Clyde’s quiet reach, where the waters gleam, Stands Dumbarton Rock, a guardian of dream. Its ancient stones recall a regal past, When kings would walk the battlements, steadfast and vast.

Sonar

Beneath the briny deep’s cold shroud, A sonar pulse sends out its sound— A whispered click that seeks the gloom, Returning echoes from the tomb Of sunken hull and silent shoal, Painting the ocean’s hidden

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