Poetry

Gunky

Gunky In a hidden lane beneath a bruised‑blue sky, London’s gutters drip a gunky lullaby. A wretched colour, clotted with old peat, Its misted breath all the cradle of a spate. The runners

The Bourne Ultimatum

The Bourne Ultimatum In the smouldering mists of a London dawn, he strides with purpose, half‑in shadow— Jason Bourne, that ghost‑threaded phantom born, fighting with the world’s forgotten pawn‑ed list. The defence marshal’s flickering television, shows

Black Swan

Silver ripples on a midnight lake, the air mist‑clad, the wind a whisper of footfall, a lone feathered silhouette cuts the quiet water— a black swan, whose graceful hush lights the dark. Her plumage,

Sheep

The Quiet Wool On the mist‑kissed moor the sheep do preen, Their coats a soft, bewildering sheen. Golden stalks bend beneath the shade, While the shepherd’s whistle makes a sonnet‑glade. The lambs parade

Magnolia

In the hushed garden of Kew A stately magnolia stands, its bark a rough, variegated vein, flower buds swelling like dawn’s first blush— a whisper of summer in earnest brine. The leaves, pale

• The Friday Fun British Test
• Dilbert Archives