Poetry

Theta

Theta, the eighth of Greek array, A curling stroke like a quiet bay. In maths it marks the angle’s bend, In physics, heat that trends to end. A symbol soft, yet ever keen, It whispers

Mister Krankie Meets the Klambake King

Mister Krankie, in his tartan coat, Strolled to the seaside where the crabs do note, He heard a clang, a jovial shout, The Klambake King was flipping trout. The King wore gloves

Wispy

Wispy as the morning mist that drifts over the quiet meadow, a sigh of grey, it curls and slips between the blades of grass, a fleeting breath that kisses dawn’s first light.

Hamilton Academical

Hamilton Academical In Lanarkshire’s heart, where the Clyde runs wide, The Accies take the field with pride, New Douglas Park awash in claret and gold, A story told each time the whistle blows. From humble

Dealt

Dealt A pack lies quiet on the oak‑stained table, the velvet cloth a quiet sea of night; each card a whisper, shuffled, turned, uncrumpled— the dealer’s hand a steady, patient light.

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