Poetry

Tottenham Hotspur

In the North London light where the lilac sky meets the Thames, Spurs stride on hallowed turf, a chorus of claret and blue. Lilywhite jerseys flutter like banners over White Hart Lane, Echoes

Clack

Clack‑clack on cobbles, the lady’s heels sing, A rhythm that taps the old market’s ring. Each step a punctuation, a terse, bright beat, Echoing off shutters where neighbours meet. In the hush of the

Taking Cocaine with Wendy Cope

In a dim‑lit flat where rain taps soft against the pane, I find myself beside Wendy Cope, verses scattered like loose change, Her laughter a quiet chime, the kettle’s sigh a steady

Avian

Avian verses rise with sunrise, Feathered silhouettes sketched across the sky, Each wingbeat a whisper of ancient wind, Plumage polished like jade in morning light. From the robin’s ruby breast to the swan’s pure

Third Wordle War

Third Wordle War In the quiet hush of morning light, When solvers sip their tea and bite, A rumble stirs beneath the grid, Where five‑letter foes in silence hid. The First Wordle War

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