Poetry

Acute

Acute In the hush of morning light, an acute angle slices the sky— sharp as a newly‑sharpened nib, carving thin lines of geometry across the parchment of clouds. It is the acute

Bradford City

Beneath the Pennine sky, where mills once roared, A claret‑and‑amber flame still burns unscored. Bradford City, the Bantams, stand proud and true, Their heartbeat echoing through Valley Parade’s hue. From the cobbled

Unity

In the quiet hush of dawn, hands from every corner clasp, their fingers weaving threads of hope, a tapestry of shared heartbeat. From bustling city streets to mist‑clad hills, voices rise in gentle chorus, each note

Queer

The moon hung queer above the hedge, tilted like a picture frame nobody had bothered to straighten. A crow stood on one leg in the middle of a frost-white field, as though waiting for a

Curry

Spice-laden steam curls from the pot, A ruby broth that sings of cumin, turmeric, and clove, Each grain a story, each bite a thought— A warm embrace in a bowl, a love that

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