Lockdown in the Local
The pubs are shut
The grass aint cut
The pints not flowing
The lawn needs mowing
The pies are cold
The snacks are old
The crisps are stale
The lack of ale
The jukey's quiet
The waitress fired
The buzz is gone
The fire ain't on
The food disposed
The doors are closed
Goodbye my Local
Thursday 24th September 2020 9:51 pm
Recent Comments
Stephen Atkinson on The Poem Of Life
30 minutes ago
Martin Elder on Call me soon
1 hour ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on for the Unbroken
1 hour ago
Yanma Hidayah on Between Morning and Night
2 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on HAIKU DON BHLIAIN 2025 [UIMHIR A TRÍ DÉAG]
2 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Bread and Roses
3 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Haiku for 2025 [N. 12 KNEECAP]
3 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Forget-Me-Not
4 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Reference in Rhyme
4 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Life in blues.
4 hours ago