Tuesday 8 February 2022

One Poem by GJ Hart


What They Say



in my city

within in a city

it is silent

but sequined  -

a sleeping,

dying body, - the sun's

finger prodding down -

even the politicians

won't lie -


all born

from pain - God

and computers,

the cockroaches think

we'll survive and rats

just crave peace -

one of us

is mad but who's

to say who -



is a stone

imprint - I'll press

my pain -  bury it

in the knee's

soft cave or banish it

to the back's grey ocean -

so I can never hurt,

even when I am




GJ Hart currently lives and works in London and has had work published in Isacoustic, Nine Muses Poetry, The Molotov Cocktail, The Jersey Devil Press, The Harpoon Review and others. He can be found arguing with himself over @gj_hart.



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