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
Philip Stevens on This Imaginary Life-Part 3 (Nature)
1 hour ago
Nigel Astell on June 2025 Collage Poem: You Watched the Trains Come, You Watched the Trains Go
8 hours ago
Tom Doolan on Poetry Is Pain
13 hours ago
David RL Moore on Too late too late
1 day ago
Rolph David on Love The Light, Embrace The Rain
1 day ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The roads taken
1 day ago
Red Brick Keshner on still, the Earth breathes
1 day ago
Marnanel Thurman on The roads taken
1 day ago
Red Brick Keshner on where shadows do not drown
1 day ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The Empty Streets of Ego’s March
1 day ago