Poetry

Peterhead

Peterhead At the edge of the Aberdeenshire coast, where the North Sea rolls in with a steady sigh, the town of Peterhead clings to granite and harbour, its streets laid out like

Armagh City

Armagh City In the quiet hush of emerald hills, Armagh wears its mantle of stone and spire, Two cathedrals stand—one Anglican, one Roman— Their bells a twin‑heartbeat across the lough‑kissed shire. Georgian façades

Limavady United

The Roe Valley Hum Not where the floodlights blazeiest burn, Nor where the trophies loudly gleam, But where the Roe River winds its turn, Lies Limavady United’s dream. No polished pitch of pristine sheen, Just honest

Wiser

Wiser In the quiet of a London dawn, when the mist still clings to the Thames, I watch the red‑double‑decker glide past the flat where I once kept my dreams. Years have folded

Brood

In quiet fields where morning light does creep, A speckled hen does guard her feathered brood, Each chick a pulse of life, a promise deep, Beneath the sky's soft, ever‑changing mood. They

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