Colin Campbell Robinson

 

Noir

 

The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here.

Italo Calvino. ‘Invisible Cities’.

 

 

The proof is in the text.

He manipulates keys.

They hold plastic close, electronic skipping.

 

- Message me sometime.

 

She said thanks and left the rest to his imagination.

He was in the ether, didn’t really exist at all.

 

 

- I didn’t get it.

- I sent it.

- You can’t read it?

- Delete.

- Are you sure?

- Deleted.

 


 

No one has time.

It is written or is it?

 

Few words come down the line.

 

- I imagine you languishing.

- How could you?

She slaps down her receiver, breaks into tears.

 

Everything happens including…

 

The text is another message. Meaning in the touch.

We connect.

 

- I’ve known you for how long

- 3,250 seconds to be exact

Long as…

Long as…

Longing.

 

 

She sent pictures of herself. They are stimulating.

The world is stimulating. The world is pornographic.

Paint it black, he says to girls in coloured clothes.

 

She says, come unto me or was it onto me?

 

You’ll be surprised to know this is fiction.

 

She reads his text, smiles, holds her head in her hands.

 

Spying, he’d call it spying.

She says she’s keeping abreast of current trends.

 

There will be change. I know what I know, can’t hide. She came down the line like a spider.

Networking, she called it, work-grouping.

 

This is a party line. Hold on for connection.

Your party is busy.

 

- Ring me on my work phone but whisper.

 

He’s making it up.  She makes up with one hand on the wheel and free.

 

 

Dart about like a moth. Death will soon come.

And he came quick as a genie offering sad wishes.

 

Have to keep it brief. No one has time.

Single-minded love to be loved.

She looks in many directions but there’s no diamond on the horizon.

 

Metal days, steely and iron-filled.

Gold feeds her fever.


Her fingers move faster.

She sends messages of empty expectation

like a heart scavenger.

 

Death comes all over her like a youthful lover.

 

 

Colin Campbell Robinson is an Australian artist currently living and working in the Celtic extremity of West Penwith. He has had his work performed and published in a variety of venues both in
Australia and Europe.

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Beth Phillips

Beth Phillips is an emerging writer who dabbles in documentary, illustration, poetry and short prose. Keen to expose her work to a hungry audience she explores and examines themes of older age, decay and the beauty within these.

Twitter: Beth Phillips@bethclaudiap

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Rob Stuart

A Concrete Cinematography Primer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rob Stuart is a media studies lecturer, filmmaker and light verse enthusiast living in Surrey. In addition to Ink, Sweat and Tears he has contributed poems to Light (USA), Lighten Up Online, Magma, New Statesman, The Oldie, The Spectator and Snakeskin

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Daniel Lehan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daniel Lehan: Former paperboy, choirboy, shop assistant, ice cream seller, chip shop manager, petrol pump attendant, pub caterer, post office worker, theatre usher, cleaner, leaflet distributor, front of house manager, t-shirt designer,screen printer, children’s book author and illustrator, gardener, teacher. http://eachdayadrawing.blogspot.ca/

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Word & Image from Helen Pletts and Romit Berger

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The winter-night-song of a Fenland home

        for Hollie

The chimney takes the note of sorrow
Down a brick gullet,
Tied at the neck in knots,
Unable to swallow straight
The journeying wind
That sings in the crevices
That might be a white quaver
Tipped from the feathered back of a Bewicks’ swan
Crossing the fen to Welney, or
The agent of metronome
Driven from the back of a Boeing out of Stansted
Levelling the turbulence with folds of metal
That split into brakes and cleave thermal tongues in two.

Silence all singing air tonight. Hold your breath,
Your synergy; the over-ramblings of the strained earth-voice
Contained in this, my chimney.

 

 

 

 

Words by Helen Pletts (www.helenpletts.com ) whose two collections, Bottle bank and For the chiding dove, are both published by YWO/Legend Press (supported by The Arts Council) and available on Amazon. ‘Bottle bank’ was longlisted for The Bridport Poetry Prize 2006, under Helen’s maiden name of Bannister. Working collaboratively on Word and Image with Romit Berger, illustrator, since 2012. Word and Image Cards now on sale in The Over Gallery .

Image by Romit Berger who says “I am a graphic designer and artist, living in Prague for the past
ten years. In 2008 I joined a writing group – English is not my native
 language but I graduated from an international school, so it is a part 
of my life ever since. I feel that the dual process of finding words to
 describe mind images and illustrating written words, opens a new 
exciting dimension of creativity for me.

 

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Dot Cobley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Fernery

 

Scales of glass,

a crest of frilled iron,

his baby

tucked deep in shrubbery

 

could stagger up

on stiff metal limbs

as pier

crystal palace

railway station,

steam  oil  sweat

on its green breath,

mouth a cave.

 

Pure folly,

this sunken factory

of spores

and fronds.

She has to keep the statues

scrubbed,

her and her bad legs.

 

 

 

 

Dot Cobley has been published in numerous anthologies and magazines, including Smiths Knoll. Rialto and The SHOp.  Having collaborated with artists on various projects, she has decided to try combining her own artwork and poetry…

 

Note: The poem The Fernery was first published in Seam.

 

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Daniel Lehan

 

 Three Book Cut Up (2)

Daniel Lehan: Former paperboy, choirboy, shop assistant, ice cream seller, chip shop manager, petrol pump attendant, pub caterer, post office worker, theatre usher, cleaner, leaflet distributor, front of house manager, t-shirt designer, screen printer, children’s book author and illustrator, gardener, teacher.   http://eachdayadrawing.blogspot.ca/

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