This melancholy fug
burrows into my bones
After delving back again
into those memories recounted
with such forensic clarity
Comes a cold blue atmosphere
a fragrant longing
and precision-tooled regret

Those searingly stark lines
old faces, wild flames
lost friendships resurrected 
I’m dropped back into the thick of things
Drifting through teenage streets
old freedoms, vintage fantasi...

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I’m reading an R. A. Lafferty story
about the planet of bears nothing
is going right for the explorers
the bears steal snuff and food
that they’ve eaten I’m scared
the end will be worse and
the explorers won’t make
it out alive but we’ll see
when we reach it.

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A misplaced comma, 

an extra apostrophe,

page numbers missing;

a million little things to fix

that ought not to

take away the aura

of the piece but make me

stop and scream

How reckless

to leave the reader in such a mess

when they should only

focus on the very best

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I’m digging through letters for clues 
For endearments that will fill my cup

They spill over and fall away
As they come in with a rush

Too many to grasp
I pick them up one by one

In hopes to hold onto
Little pieces of you

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Magyk

I had a book all full of spells

Where childhood magic

Weaved its way

Between the yellowed pages

Where dragon’s breath

Set woodland glades alight

And lost children danced

With the frightened and the fey

The teeth of angry wolves

Chewed at the edges

Whilst chattering little demons

Clawed along your spine

Strange apples fell from wizene...

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Simple Pleasures

A quiet corner of the room,

curtains drawn to the night,

the gentle glow from simple lamp

that casts a magic light,

a book opened, page twenty three,

with hundreds yet to read,

the urgent ticking of the clock

muffled, paid no heed.

A glass of something warming

and shortbread on a plate,

the crackle of a fire

that dances in the grate,

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My book-shelf

is

filled with

the campaign

medals,

self-awarded,

from battles

with

an inadequate

education.

Words and image Tommy Carroll

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Nobody knows everything

But we should know what we do

Books are there for reading

And courses there to go

Don't say:"I know enough"

Your brain, sure, will freeze

Don't let someone to laugh

If you meet someone who knows

That the rule of good knowledge

Learn what you really need

The knowledge has a good bridge

To cross it, you must read

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a sonnet

That thou may'st happly spend your day

Fair maid amongst the northern hills

With books and study that will oft defray

Your time and thought in winter's chills;

That there is pleasure 'mongst your shelves

Oh lady in your cottage home

Tis proven by each and everyone who delves

In dusty library vaults to hunt a tome;

That thy bookish studies are good I swear

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what spills onto         the page

falls from                  my mind:

it tells of                   what is there

it tastes of                 my thoughts

so they are                spread here                      with care

                                                                        as verse

the page                    becomes

my mind                    bared

...

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relax,

now start breathing,

everything around is around for the same reason. 

Catastrophe, catastrophe its all the same feeling

i'm too old to move on, i'm too old to keep dreaming.

When to move on is to grow and to grow is not leaving,

in a promise land we grow, and speak of the same reason

we speak of heaven and hell like they're not the same demon.

Well to move...

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Villiers Path: Scalloped Time is the second chapbook published on my Seethingography imprint, part of Sampson Low Publishers Ltd. I will be reading from this, for the first time, next Saturday, 20th May, at The Flying Horse Cellar Bar, 6 Oxford Street, London. The event is FREE and runs from 7pm - 8.30pm.

This is as part of an event to launch David Russamano's first chapbook, (Reasons for) Movi...

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I’ve forgotten when I first read

books about John and Mary,

The Happy Train or Let’s Learn To Read

but I remember the comics

dad bought home each Saturday afternoon

from work. Bundled in his arms were

Beano, Dandy, Eagle, Hotspur, Look & Learn

and I’d devour them one at a time

and no one stopped me.

I loved the strips: Corporal Clott,

Desperate Dan, Dan...

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Why you should come to Four London Poets on Saturday Dec 3rd.

Number 1). Deryl Walsh. Deryl has long been one of my favourite poets. She makes the occasional excursion into surrealism, but most of her work is observational, succinct and often very witty. I would be well pleased if she were to include the poem about dining alone in a hotel, and the one concerning a visit to the Festival Hall. Sh...

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Dawn is naked and alive
pirouetting in the street outside
she is a broad grey sky, endless above

It's not rain...
just some foggy spray licking windows
a coat the building wears
a metaphor I cannot interpret
all irony is groggily lost on me
yawning with my whole body
struggling with the load of memory
I'm oiling daily

So maybe I should stay indoors
get the fire going, boil the kett...

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WORDS OF WONDER

A word on a line
joined with many and more,
a story to tell 
from behind a closed door.

A line on a page
and a paragraph to make,
from a thoughtful sage 
to the ones who forsake.

A page in a book 
telling tales short and tall,
just have a quick look,
hear the whispering call.

A book on a shelf,
many dusty old tomes,
a wealth of words 
from across quiet rooms...

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Books Ladder Books Books
Books Ladder Double Window
Books Ladder Books Books
 

If you didn't understand this: you should have read this like you see a picture in front of your mind's eye. This is more a joke than serious poetry.

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He whispers in my ear,

With words contrived to change opinion.

Long, spindles of fingers,

Reach into my brain,

Scratching,

Scraping,

The shocks of his sorcery.

He tells his story, with whispered murmurs,

Using the language of his creator.

He surpasses,

Goes beyond expectation, 'til at last his spell is woven,

And the memory of his touch,

Leaves me yearning,

F...

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http://www.youtube.com/user/clawfishy Here three videos of my first readings would  love feedback as i know they are not perfect by any means but i am now on a learning curve about projection and performance so let me know

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Blind Alley (old poem)

The psychic grinned at me
as I slid her a twenty.
She slapped the cards down
and stared intently at them.
Her eyes raised
to meet mine,
and I knew the bullshit was coming.
Her mouth moved swiftly
just like her hands over the cards,
but all I heard
were my own thoughts.
She paused to let her words sink in,
but I thought about the pieces
that ...

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 Hope you enjoy it!

http://raymondantrobus.bandcamp.com/album/raymond-antrobus-spoken-word

Ray. x

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