The Telephone Box

The footsteps echoed on cobblestones

When a chime rang ten of the clock,

As a sailor making his way back home

Was walking up from the dock,

It was cold and dark for the lights were out

And the street was wet with the rain,

When he came to an old red telephone box

At the side of a narrow lane.

 

The clouds were black and they opened up

So he stepped in out of the wet,

Dropped his swag as it turned to hail

And lit up a cigarette,

The box was ancient, was George the Fifth

And hadn’t been used for years,

But stood in a lane that time forgot

When the rot set in, and worse.

 

For most of the houses were boarded up

And the weeds had grown outside,

Some had embarked for a tree-lined park

And some of the others died,

It was lonely there in the dark of night

As the sailor waited, he sang,

But stubbed his cigarette out in fright

When the telephone next to him rang.

 

He stared at it for a while before

He raised it, stopping the bell,

It had an echoing, ghostly sound

Like you hear in a deep sea shell,

The sound of sobbing came to his ear

And he cried, ‘Who’s there, what’s wrong?’

‘Oh God, I’ve waited forever my dear,

I’m locked in the basement, Tom!’

 

The sailor said that he wasn’t Tom

But she didn’t appear to hear,

‘He’s got an axe, attacking the door,

Be quick or he’ll kill me, dear!’

The sailor didn’t know what to say

But a chill ran up his spine,

‘Tell me, what’s your address,’ he said

‘Before you run out of time!’

 

‘I’m straight across from the telephone box,

You usually meet me here,

He’s found us out, and he screams and shouts

That he’ll kill you as well, my dear!

He just came home from a spell at sea

And called me a cheating w***e,

If you don’t come over and rescue me

He’ll have smashed his way through the door.’

 

The sailor wanted to say, ‘Enough!

It’s nothing to do with me,’

But flew on out of the telephone box,

Leapt over a fallen tree,

He raced right in through the open door

And he called, ‘I’m here, just wait!’

Then made his way to the cellar door

But all he could feel was hate.

 

The door was shattered, he walked right in

It was dark, there wasn’t a light,

He felt around for a candle, lit

And stared at the terrible sight.

A man lay dead on the basement floor

Where an axe had taken his life,

And there with her throat like an open sore

Was the body of his dear wife.

 

He staggered, stopped, and fell to his knees

And sobbed like a man insane,

‘Oh God, it’s true, I did this to you,

But my mind’s been playing games.

I thought if I went away to sea

I’d return to find they were dreams…’

As he sliced a razor across his throat

He thought, ‘Life’s not what it seems!’

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

David,

You never seem to cease! Your muse, while sometimes quiet, never sleeps. She is just gathering storm clouds and thunder to reverberate through your mind, to unsettle the bones of stories sleeping within your skin. I truly love your writing style and am amazed at the plethora of poems that you continue to write. You should be very proud of the legacy you are creating, the stories you have threaded into the finest fabric, which will stand the test of time.

Your writing stokes the fires of the imagination, and we are all warmed by the flames.

[Anand Sehgal]

I thought if I went away to sea

I’d return to find they were dreams…’

As he sliced a razor across his throat

He thought, ‘Life’s not what it seems!’

you're a master story teller !
*********************************************************************************************************************************************

[Leigh]

That was an amazing story out of your amazing imagination, I always enjoy reading your poems are so full of vivid, with sailors and w****s even the classic words 'cellar door'. I like the lines

The clouds were black and they opened up
So he stepped in out of the wet,
Dropped his swag as it turned to hail
And lit up a cigarette,

Your writing inspires me thank you David

[Bob Sherunkle]

Good god,that was fantastic! I was caught up in the panic and my heart sank at the end. Incredible work Mr Paget.

[Daniel Sala]

An unexpected twist as ever, and a thoroughly beautiful use of words and ideas, such as:

"For most of the houses were boarded up
And the weeds had grown outside,
Some had embarked for a tree-lined park
And some of the others died,"

I'm speechless, that is a marvellous poem from beginning to end. Linda's review is spot on.

[Solitary Traveler]

Absolutely, without a doubt, a story within a poem, of a nightmare reality. Well written, and paced, with no missing points that I could question. there was an intro, a middle, and a wild ending. Loved it.

[roarke]

Yep, had days like this myself... too many days...
This piece swings along, it's current is swift and addicting. Crisp in vision and long in originality. I"m growing fat on this kind of diet.
I'll have another helping.

[Marie]

Sometimes there is no escape and the most dreadful dreams become reality.

[Draven]

Wow. Talk about an ending. I really did not see that coming. Ha. I do love this, and nothing gets me up and going for the day like a nice jolt of creativity.