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john short

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John Short was born in Liverpool and went to Leeds University. Later he spent some years in the south of Europe working in fields and factories and as an English teacher in Spain before settling for a long period in Athens where he began to learn Greek and the six string bouzouki. In 2003 he contributed nine poems to the Pterodactyl's Wing Anthology of Welsh Poetry, compiled by Richard Gwyn for Parthian Books. At the end of 2007 he emerged from an obscure neighbourhood of Piraeus to get a laptop and start submitting to magazines. These days he divides his time between Liverpool and Barcelona and has just self-published a collection entitled Composting For All through Dave Lewis of Publish and Print (Pontypridd). PUBLICATION HISTORY POETRY NORTH ANTHOLOGY 1998 126 WRITERS ANTHOLOGY (LIVERPOOL CCE) 1998 PTERODACTYL'S WING WELSH ANTHOLOGY 2003 FORWARD POETS PRIZE ANTHOLOGY 2009 THE FRENCH LITERARY REVIEW 2011 BARCELONA INK MAGAZINE 2011-2012 THE DELINQUENT 2011-12 THE WATERHOUSE REVIEW 2012 OBSESSED WITH PIPEWORK 2013 THE FROGMORE PAPERS 2014 ORBIS MAGAZINE 2014 THE FROGMORE PAPERS 2016 INK SWEAT AND TEARS 2016 UNDER THE FABLE 2016 THE METAWORKER 2016 THE FRENCH LITERARY REVIEW 2017 PROLE MAGAZINE 2017 ALGEBRA OF OWLS 2017 RATS ASS REVIEW 2017 ATRIUM 2018 DREAM CATCHER 2018 COLLECTIONS: COMPOSTING FOR ALL (As Hubert Tsarko) 55 poems (Publish & Print Pontypridd 2017)


BATHROOM DOG A time when all was new we bought two roses and cans of lager in the park. You donned your street persona, told the guy you didn't want them frozen then later, at the camp site it seemed that everything was fine: fresh roses, lager, music the bedroom with pastel walls, a balcony on tranquil sea. But now you don't want roses and the bedroom's not okay because it doesn't have a shower, the rice in the restaurant is not cooked and you most definitely can't tolerate these insects. Last night we got some neighbours, their dog in the bathroom outside its paw-prints settled the argument. 2016 HISTORY LESSON We were collecting olives above the mountain road. Tangled in branches springing from rock to boulder, judging absences under nets with sea a thousand edges of light below and just to help time pass I counted ways that we might injure ourselves in the pursuit of oil. Then they filled me with feta, tomatoes, coarse bread strong dark wine and walnuts; sent me full-stomached back up the painful tree, pointed to a hole in the ground and said: that's where they used to throw them. And so began a history lesson more interesting than counting misfortune. Published in The Frogmore Papers 2014.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Wed 12th Apr 2017 12:44

John, I shall make every effort to keep up with your posts. They are powerful. 'History Lesson' is really superb.

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Laura Taylor

Wed 14th Sep 2016 09:51

Ta for y'note on me funeral poem John 😃 I am deffo having some Ivor Cutler at mine, and the coconut shells will be compulsory!

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Graham Sherwood

Thu 26th May 2016 13:58

Having just sent you a message John, I see you haven't posted on the blog yet.
The best way is to write your work on a word document and the cut and paste it into the blog via "add blog entry" from the top of the home page. You will have to sign in first.



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