Migration (Remove filter)
The Last Supper
They munch at scraps of bread
And gulp their meagre drink;
They borrow someone’s phone
To make one final call,
Then scrape up what he asks
To squeeze into the boat
And shiver as the sea
Sets out its fearsome stall.
Wednesday 2nd October 2024 5:19 pm
Recent Comments
Graham Sherwood on I Hear Nothing
3 hours ago
Tom Doolan on Stoic Man
3 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Mothers of Sons (Twenty years wasted to abandonment)
5 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on The Westgate Run (Re-run) [song version]
6 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on A Knight's Resilience
6 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on I CAN'T CARE FUCKING LESS
7 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on "Forged in Fire, Taught in Halls"
8 hours ago
Sourajit Nandi on "Forged in Fire, Taught in Halls"
14 hours ago
Holden Moncrieff on Rosary.
20 hours ago
TobaniNataiella on Are The Angels Watching Over Me Tonight
20 hours ago