Poetry

Burst

Burst In the quiet of a summer morning, a red balloon slips from a child's grasp, its silk sighs against the blue, then—pop!—a sudden burst of colour splinters the air, scattering confetti like laughter caught in

Liven

Liven up the morning mist, A spark that dances on the panes— Turn quiet rooms to laughter’s twist, Where sunshine drips in golden stains. Liven the streets with choir‑soft hymns, Footsteps that skip

Walsall

Walsall’s quiet streets, where leather’s scent still clings, A town of forges, where the blacksmith’s song once rang— Now brick and glass sit cheek‑by‑jowl with market stalls, And laughter spills from pubs on

Blind

In the hush of midnight, shadows fold, A world unseen, yet stories told— The blind see music in the wind, Feel colours pulse beneath the skin. Their fingertips trace braille constellations, Each raised

Manchester United

At the Theatre of Dreams, beneath a sky of grey, Red Devils march, their hearts in fierce display. Old Trafford roars, a chorus loud and proud, Where legends rise and echoes thrum aloud. From

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