Poetry

Altrincham

Altrincham’s quiet lanes recall A market town where histories entwine, Old brick facades in gentle pastel call, And weekend stalls display their wares divine. The trams glide soft along the line, Their humming

Crash

In the hush before night’s soft sigh, A sudden crash—metal kisses the rain‑slicked lane— Shards scatter like startled starlings, Glittering fragments of hurried haste. The engine’s roar stutters, a gasp, Then silence drapes

Briton Ferry Llansawel

Briton Ferry Llansawel By the winding Neath, where water sighs, Old stone bridges guard the quiet tide, Rows of terraced houses wear the skies Of slate‑grey clouds that softly glide. The

Wimpy

He walks the street with shoulders curled, A timid soul in a world that whirls, His voice a whisper, soft and low, Like summer rain on pavements slow. He shies from conflict,

I'm in Love with the Woman in the Green Cardigan in the BBC Question Time Audience

In the hush of the studio lights, she sits, a splash of emerald wool, her cardigan folding around her shoulders like a quiet promise against the studio’s hum. BBC Question Time flickers

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