Poetry

Ross County

At Victoria Park where Highlands meet the sky, Where heather scents the breeze from Cromarty Firth, The Staggies play with passion, loud and high, A cherished part of Scotland's northern earth. No

Rinse

Rinse the day’s accumulated grit, A soft cascade of cool, clear stream, Water slipping over skin, it whisks The dust of toil, the sighs of dream. In the bathroom’s quiet hush, Tiles glisten,

Focus

Focus In the hush of morning light, thoughts gather like dew on grass, each fragment seeking a single thread— the quiet pull of purpose, steady as a compass. Eyes narrow, the world softens

Motherwell

Motherwell In the hush of dawn, the Clyde sighs low, its waters kissing steel‑clad banks, where furnaces once sang a hymn of labour, sparks like constellations raining down on cobbled streets. The town

Nifty

Nifty, a word that flits like a kite, In breezy markets and sunny delight. It tugs at the grin of a clever chap's smile, Turning the ordinary into something worthwhile. From gadgets

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