Poetry

Stevenage

Stevenage, where ancient roads still whisper, Roman footsteps fade beneath the modern grid, Concrete boulevards meet timber‑framed cottages, A town reborn from post‑war hope and grit. Roundabouts spin like tired Ferris wheels, Guiding

Clang

Clang In the early morning railway yard, the steel wheels strike the rails with a clang, a sharp, bright note that slices the mist, echoing off brick arches and distant factories. It is

Ten Unexpected Items to Find in a Bagging Area

Ten Unexpected Items to Find in a Bagging Area A rubber duck, bobbing serenely beside the tins, A lone sock, its partner lost in the maze of aisles,

Clyde

Clyde rolls through the Highlands, a silver thread, Where mist clings to the heather and the lochs are spread. His waters whisper tales of old clans and wars, Carrying the scent of peat

Edinburgh City

Edinburgh’s ancient walls whisper through the mist of Arthur’s Seat, where volcanic stone meets Scottish wind, and history walks the Royal Mile in tartan threads and piped refrain. The Castle crowns the basalt

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