Poetry

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

Canal

On quiet mornings when the mist clings to the water’s glassy skin, the canal sighs beneath a low‑sky, a silver thread through town and field. Narrowboats drift, their paint a faded hue, reds

West Bromwich Albion

At the Hawthorns, where the rivers meet, The Baggies stride in navy‑blue and white, Their hearts beat steady to the town’s own beat, A chorus rises from the faithful’s sight. From Fred’s

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