Poetry

Cliftonville

Cliftonville’s quiet streets awaken With mist that clings to terraced rows, Where pastel doors and sash‑windows Whisper stories the tide now knows. The seafront promenade sighs softly, Gulls carving arcs above the pier, Their

Poser

The poser sits where light is low, A measured sip, a joke they know Will land just right—too keen, too slick, Their laughter hits a fraction thick. They name-drop bands no one's heard yet, Adjust

Forfar Athletic

At Glebe Park the hills descend, Where Forfar Athletic’s colours blend— A shirt of blue, a splash of white, They chase the ball from dawn till night. The supporters raise a steady

Grape

In the quiet vineyard's hush, a cluster clings, Purple jewels that sigh with summer's song, Each grape a tiny globe of sun‑kissed rings, Bursting sweet, a nectar that prolongs The taste of earth, a

Celtic

Mists rise from the ancient hills, Where stone‑circles guard forgotten songs, Bards whisper in a tongue that still Sings of warriors, lovers, and throngs. Heather‑clad moors wear emerald cloaks, Rivers carve verses through

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