>A Pile of Noises



>Dining Alone

>New Fold

by A. O. Griffiths

>A Fly in Amber

by Pete Crowther

The Day I Caught a Teardrop

by Rosie Cartwright


A Pile of Noises


Everything goes on outside my window;

All that is vile and all that is fine

In a pile of noises in the dark,

A creaking sign, a murmur from the park,

A sinister question posed in the rumble

Of a taken road;

A stark unanswered presence

That strode the glass one winter's night

And stayed.


Everything goes on, replayed through the glass,

Window talk as the dark frost sets.


Pass on, perpetual railway,

Walk in conversation with my bones,

A shoulder blade relaxing with the motor drones,

A rib inflated by the swelling klaxon

Of some distant incident.

(What can it be,

This climax of some misspent evening,

Loitering in my chair?

Who Knows?)

Everything goes on out there;



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The Day I Caught a Teardrop

I catch a teardrop from the sea,
An expression of emotion,
I catch a teardrop from the sea,
The smallest part of the ocean,
Who's teardrop have I stolen today?
Who's  expression of emotion?
Who's teardrop am I holding today?
Who's smallest part of the ocean?
Where was this teardrop heading to?
The Atlantic or the Red?
Where was this teardrop coming from?
The Pacific or the Dead?
I'm keeping this teardrop locked up safe.
Away from other emotions.
I'm keeping it hidden in a tightly sealed jar,
Away from my emotions.


Multi-Media Terrain


There is a jungle out there;

In the box.

Digital growth, latent,

In locks electronic.


As a lost boy in school

I remember a plait-full of corridors

Playing the fool with my compass;

Ogrish masses of wall,

An in-bred alikeness

Teasing my orientation.


Raw was the eyeball

As out of a corner

A wonder appeared.

The by-the-door intrepidation

Would blind with sensation;

Conundrum of “What is behind?”


The jungle unfolds,

Risk and command,

Wills of the disk

Entrancing the fingers;

The challenge that lingers

In the dueling of man and machine.


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Dining Alone


There is a candle in a corner of a restaurant

That lends a golden mist

To the singer in her haunt.


The smoke, in tendrils whisked

About its rays,

Makes subtle glaze

Upon the dancing candle-flicker

Like a sleeve advancing,

Velvet nuance in the key,

Insistent flame in melody

And glancing

From the fingers of the wick.


Is this some trick?

Some wax-enhanced collision

On a table meant for two?

Precision, spent in irony,

And true to its deception,

Lets me woo you in the candlelight

And fake some succour from perception

In a flight of fancy.


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New Fold


Shall I discover something new?

A fresh origami fold,

A story of a princess and a toad

That has never been told before?


The city has the hue of something different,

The New Year calling

In the frosty traffic drone

Cast from the arteries.


Cut the frost

And there is blood so full of oxygen

That life unspent sings in an irony

Quite unrepeatable.


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A Fly in Amber

Swimming in its world of amber
The long-legged fly can still remember

The burning heat
Of the sun in the Eocene

From its golden sea, this fly has seen
The dance of continents, the rise and fall

Of all ten thousand things
Upon our planet.

In the many facets of its eyes
Seas have filled with water, deepened, dried,

Mountain ranges risen, crumbled.
This fly has seen the centaur and the unicorn

And the first Neanderthal.
Nations, empires passed before it,

Wave after wave in quick succession.
This fly was in its amber when

King Cheops built his pyramid
And Roman Caesar conquered Gaul .

Now with this ancient creature in my palm
I am become
The green flash of the setting sun


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