Pardon me for ringing you

but all my friends are dead.

It's strange to be sitting here

in the place where I was born


and no longer know a soul.

They were sand through glass

you see. Now I'm like an invalid

who struggles unheard,


consigned to oblivion, yelling

in silence, exiled on the spot

and every new day I cease

to exist again.



Ink Sweat & Tears webzine. August 2018. Editor: Helen Ivory.




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john short

Sat 8th Sep 2018 21:19

Thanks Hayley.

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Hayley Taylor

Sat 8th Sep 2018 14:39

I like this poem, thank you ?

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john short

Sat 8th Sep 2018 12:30

Thanks for the comments Ray. Nice that you always take an interest. It's actually about the trap of loneliness that people can fall into when they get old. They may feel alone and isolated, sometimes because they've outlived their friends and families.

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Fri 7th Sep 2018 19:59

Hard to precisely analyse and yet it holds a mystery we would like to penetrate, John. It feels like a frustration of communication on a personal level. Something I can truly identify with. I almost sense a bit of Larkin here, and his isolation in a way.

Hope i'm close. Always I like your work. It has an unpretentious honesty to it.


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