The hour is slim!
This is the tangled time,
the time that heavy
with want
becomes the jaws
for open thighs.
Her tasty flesh renders
the cleft of wet truth.
Persephone can slake,
can shatter my ache,
when,
enthralled against
the serpent earth
with
legs knotted,
we
lay tangled in ancient ruin.

re-edit
words  Tommy Carroll

Folded gently like
the hidden memory
of her smile,
Her parted lips
in silence
said more than
spoken breath.


words and foto T Carroll

The hour is slim!
the time to entwine
with her
and with advantage
inhale
the heavy offering
from between the jaws
of her open thighs.

Persephone's tasty flesh
renders her cleft
of wet truth-
she can slake this thirst-
can assuage my ache
when, enthralled against
the serpent earth,
with legs knotted,
we lay tangled
in ancient ruin.

words and foto  Tommy Carroll
re-edit

We came upon slowing traffic.
Inside the bus
Standing passengers were thrown
and grips tightened
as we edged forward across
the unfinished road.

We passed the sun-glassed
occupants of cars and busses
and the rolled-up sleeves
of lorry drivers who's
tanned arms hung out
of every window, and
who's fingers tapped
an unheard tune.

I stooped to stare at the
dancing distance of  
the baked tarmacked
highway.

Our eyes stung and wet
The metalled road blazed.
Our approaching gaze silent.

Gripped passports Identity papers
rosary- beads
-Letters of transit -
not needed;
The border did what most
borders do-
and shrugged us through.

Laughter becomes all languages.

Later that afternoon,
I sipped from the glass I held.
Jez turned to me and asked,
"Is this what it's like to be drunk?"
I smiled as I slid my wine towards her...
...
words and foto T Carroll..

I washed her
from my pillow-slips.

In a white plastic bucket
I soaked away her body's breath,
and with bleach removed
the evidence she had  left.

We snatched the time
to make our marks
with sweat and
firm commitments.

The stains on stolen sheets
proved easier to erase
than those she ground into
the fabric of my room,

I watched as
traces of our time
together
turned the water dark.

Touch:
and upon touching,
let a wanton look
dress your skin,
pressing its wants-
as in a gentle grip-
shaping my tongue,
to press tales
of soft request,
and taste the very giving
response of that same skin,
adorned and to touch
its naked candour.

Not for me another love
like choking fear
It will not budge
I dare not blink
for it now seems
by choosing drink
I dwell in dreams

I grind to bits
my words and teeth
when searching through
my history:
to lift above
what lay beneath
all that broken masonry.

...
words and foto Tommy  Carroll

We've each got different partners now
and we're having a real nice time
we both agreed to separate
Parsley Sage Rosemary and ...

We both were once so in love
now we just stay in touch
we cherish the time we once had
as we don't see each other much.

I once saw her on the bus
once chatted on the phone
we've sent each other a couple of  texts
at work, on the bus, and at home.
.               but
We've each got different partners now.

The wind it tackles
the leaves and the litter
the leaves and the litter
the leaves and the past.

the sun it is drying
the paint and the puddles
the paint and the puddles
the paint of the past

I saw the bend coming
the bend was approaching
the bend in the road
that soon would be passed

I saw her look sadden
she feared I was leaving
the leaves and the litter
the pain and the past.

words and foto Tommy Carroll

re-edit

This is the tangled time
The time that heavy with want
Becomes the jaw for open thighs.
My tasty flesh renders
The cleft for wet truth.
The hour is slim; my ache can shatter Persephone's Slake.
Enthralled against the serpent earth!
Legs knotted, lay tangled in ancient ruin.

Jan folded the letter
running a finger
along its crease.

She looked up-
someone  was
explaining functionality
€‹She stared at
the new argument
€on the white board

then returned to the letter-
the fold
the plane
pressing and creasing
vertices meeting
corners peaking.

Sighing:

His orientation obvious,
they were now mismatched.
Incongruent
she rose
and left the room.
There would be many such
lessons.

Tommy Carroll
redrafted

I will finger the hem
of your gown
and place my smile's cheek
against the shadow
of your leaving.

I watch and  stand
and let a passing
cloud
hit by moonlight
make a rimmed
spectacle
of a distant want.

I shift my weight
and blink;
recalling wordless
feelings before
I put into words
those useless
aphorisms.

It's the words,
with their wanton
un-mouthed ache,
that bleat silently
against the ear,
tangling those
as yet un-marked
and un-surveyed
desires,
whose syntax'
obliterating duster
transforms an
ancient passion
into a grammatical
smudge.

I blink again
and return
to my frosted gate.
Pausing, I catch
a reflection
of the nearly moon
breaking free from
the hiding clouds-
and for an instant
my feelings,
unwritten,
unspoken,
return.

"Ignore the unfounded rumours
of pus- in your milk
and others
which are also quite scary,"
said the white coated chap
with the clipboard and cap
and the man who's
in charge of the dairy.

words and foto  Tommy Carroll


words and foto T Carroll

I now recall her smile
that when folded gently
was placed between the
linen and her letters
in my bottom drawer
and like
the hidden memory
of that smile, her parting lips
in silence
said more than spoken breath,
her shadowed looks
a gaze that hid its mark.

"Konnichiwa"
A voice calls out,
foreign, disembodied.
Once again but louder-
"konnichiwa!"

I walk dripping from the shower
to the bedroom.
Upon my bed a fresh white towel
lay folded and
upon that my 'phone.
Vibrating,
It's her.

Two women in my room
-one does the bidding
of the other-
The ring-tone
female and Japanese.

I place the 'phone
upon the dresser,
take the towel
from off the bed
and dry myself.
I lay upon the fresh sheets
and sigh.
She calls again.

The voice enquires:
"Konnichiwa"
the tone becoming
increasingly irritable.
I stare at the ceiling.
She calls again.
I turn my back on her enquiry
and lay staring
with my eyes closed
waiting...


re-edit
words and foto Tommy Carroll

Rattering tattering
slam-dunk battering
precipitous squall
from a louring sky's fall
as if any of us are mattering.

Tommy Carroll Liverpool

Her hand was young
and open.
A generosity
of spirit in its
loops and curves
And in closing:
'with compliments'
and her name 'Nina'
I envisaged an x.

Sometimes on a sunny day,
early,
earlier than the busses,
before the traffic
around my house
has time to make me reach
for the radio news,
and
look day straight in its face.

Sometimes I search out
from under the debris
of tasks ahead
that have me sighing-
at folders of forms and
issues to confront.

Sometimes with the
back door open,
allowing the light to
pool on the wall,
and freshen the air.

I this time 'heck' it and
find Coltrane and Ballads
and coffee and gaze and
I think of her.

Jan folded the letter
running a finger
along its crease.

She looked up-
somebody was explaining
functionality,
She stared:
the new argument was
written on the white board
she returned to the letter-

another fold
another plane
pressing and creasing
opening
rereading
vertices missed,
words realigned.
Sentences brokered
with each new
configuration,
yet its meaning
reformed.

He- was disengaged
she- was misplaced.
Incongruent.
She rose
and left the room.
There would be
many such lessons.

Tommy Carroll

Not for me another love
like choking fear
It will not budge
I dare not blink
for it now seems
by choosing drink
I dwell in dreams

I grind to bits
my words and teeth
when searching through
my history:
to lift above
what lay beneath
all that broken masonry

Folded gently like
the hidden memory
of her smile,
Her parted lips
in silence
said more than
spoken breath.


words and foto T Carroll

oooh ahhh
oooh ahhh
oooh ahhh...

aching buttocks
aching thighs
unseen crowds
unseen skies
between the shoulders
lakes of fire
stinging eyes
on the spinning tyre
calves and heart
will explode
grip the handles
eat the road
kilo meters
whirring chains
mountain passes
grassy planes
the body's racked
the body begs
pressing down
on un-stretched legs
far beyond
un-melted snow
want to stop
but miles to go...

oooh ahhh
oooh ahhh
oooh ahhh...

Jan folded the letter
running a finger
along its crease.

She looked up-
somebody was explaining
functionality:
She stared
at the new argument
written on the white board
then returned to the letter-

the fold
another plane
pressing and creasing
vertices missing
corners peaking...

Sighing:

His orientation disengaged
they were now misplaced.
Incongruent
she rose
and left the room.
There would be
many such lessons.

Tommy Carroll
redrafted

In Algiers I held a glass
that held a face's
stare
In the glass the face
that stared
stared back at me
in fear.*


We came upon slowing traffic.
Inside the war-torn bus the
standing passengers were gently
rocked as we drove along
the unfinished road.

Unfinished roads:
you became convinced
that each rock and pothole
was placed carefully in order
to discomfit passengers,
to remind them of
their poverty
or the slumming middle-class
of the acre sized swimming
pool that awaits.

We passed the sun-glassed
occupants of cars and busses
and the rolled-up sleeves
of lorry drivers.
Tanned arms hung out
of  windows;
fingers tapping
an unheard beat.

I stooped to stare at the
dancing distance of  heat
waves rising from
the baked highway.
Asphalt arteries.

People gripped passports,
identity papers,
rosary- beads
- Letters of transit -
they were not needed;
the border did what most
borders do-
it shrugged us through.

Smiles become all languages.

Later
I sat staring out
the window of a bar.
Hardly blinking.
A bus stopped and
people got off.
A dog scratched.
The sky was blue and cloudless.

I lifted a cold drink.
Watching.
Then Jez turned to me
and asked,
"Is this what it's like
to be drunk?"
I smiled as I slid my wine
towards her...

words    T Carroll

In the mirror I held a face
that held a face's stare,
In that mirror
the face that stared
stared back at me in fear...*

They came upon slowing traffic.
Inside a war-torn bus
standing passengers were gently rocked.
They were driven along an unfinished road.
Unfinished roads are were you
become convinced
that each rock and pothole
were placed carefully in order
to discomfit the passengers,
to remind them of their poverty.

They passed the sun-glassed occupants
of cars and busses
and the rolled-up sleeves of lorry drivers.
Tanned arms hung out of windows;
fingers tapping an unheard beat.

The foot-worn passengers
clutching the free tickets to
a roll-call of loss and desperation,
"roll-up".
Walking- just.

They stooped to stare at the dancing distance
of heat waves rising from
the baked highway.

Asphalt arteries.

They gripped passports,
Identity papers, rosary- beads
'Letters of transit'
but they were not needed;
the border did what most borders do-
it shrugged them through.

Smiles become all languages.

Later, I sat staring out the window of a bar-
hardly blinking.
A bus stopped and people got off.
Laughter.
A dog scratched.
The sky was blue and cloudless.
The poor -the confused and naked poor-
had gone where the confused and naked go-
somewhere else.

I lifted a cold drink.
Watching.
Then Jez turned to me and asked:
"Is this what it's like to be drunk?"

I smiled as I slid a bottled lager towards her.

How to tell a joke
                -Advice given to a Lady-

PREAMBLE-
Know your audience  Know your subject

PREPARATION:  WRITE out your joke in full,
read it aloud many times.
REMOVE all diversions, inconsequential and trivial.
CHECK for confused references
ENSURE you have a command of the required terminology.
DO Laugh at other people's jokes before attempting    your own (this is called 'seeding')
Get the round in before attempting your joke.


.                  Try not to get out of your depth

AVOID sporting, scientific or technical references-
limit your choice to *** and fashion.
Political issues may only result in your being confused.
DO Laugh at other people's jokes before attempting    your own (this is called 'seeding')
Get another round in before telling your joke.
DO not sweat.

                                           Practice brevity
                                           Remove 25% of what's left
                                           Remain calm


Remember to blink

EVENT- Style is everything:
             delivery is more so
-
PRACTICE eye contact
AVOID staring continually at the same person
DO not wear checked shirts, dungarees or men's boots
DO not mumble
DO not rush delivery
LEARN to lower your vocal pitch
REMEMBER to breathe
DO not show signs of fear

                                           Practice brevity
                                           Remove 25% of what's left
                                           Remain calm

Ask a chap about posture
Ask a chap for advice
Ask a chap for his approval

Try to relax

AVOID tearing-up beer-mats
DO not fidget
DO not under ANY circumstances cough - burp - stammer, pass wind,
or giggle hysterically during the performance.
Turn OFF your mobile 'phone.
Try NOT to look nervous.

POST SHOW- Do not apologize for your effort
                     Do not cry
                     Do not attempt an encore

re-edit

words Tommy Carroll

Folded gently like
the hidden memory
of her smile,
Her parted lips
in silence
said more than
spoken breath.

Did you ever walk on side-ways
to see a different point of view?
or sit and rest awhile in bye-ways
and think on things
and think them through?

Yes I have sat and also rested
sat and also thought things through
I have often walked on side-ways
as it's my thinking in life's bye-ways
gives me my side-ways point of view.

The hour is slim!
the time to entwine
with her and with
advantage the heavy
want that becomes
the jaws for open
thighs.

Persephone's tasty flesh
renders her cleft
of wet truth.
She can slake this thirst-
can assuage my ache.

When, enthralled against
the serpent earth
with legs knotted,
we lay tangled
in ancient ruin.

In the mirror I held a face
that held a face's stare,
In that mirror
the face that stared
stared back at me in fear...

I knew that once I turned away
that we would meet again
that he would watch
the back of my head
and whisper once more my name.

The more I see beyond
the reckoning words
and their sweet ache,
I realize you won,
you always did-
I gave,
you hid.

And this boyish want
has walked its way
away from you.
Despite my stop and
turning look
I was leaving by weighted line
and flying hook.

And my turning to your
wished for face
has piled the wanting
piled the weight
like stones not counted
but hurtful thrown
at this sorry target
this sorry bone.

words  T Carroll

She said: ''You forget about
the fall back position
of Christianity:
'Limbo'
According to the Catholic church
all 'souls' that had no faith
but were without sin-
ended up there.
I envisage
Millions of babies
crawling around for eternity,
crying for their mums!''...

Not for me another love
like choking fear
It will not budge
I dare not blink
for it now seems
by choosing drink
I dwell in dreams

I grind to bits
my words and teeth
when searching through
my history:
to lift above
what lay beneath
all that broken masonry

week-ends
week-ends
work-a-day
book-ends

I lost my care-full
soul...
where?
there,
down by the sea...

She cast a smiling
glance...
where?
there,
looking back at me...

I'm sure
I left my soul...
where?
there,
down by the sea...

I stooped to pick
it up...
where?
there,
down by the sea...

I watched as
she walked away...
where?
there,
into the waiting sea...

I let it slip like
sand...
where?
between care-less
thoughts and fingers,
there?
yes- into the waiting sea...

words by Tommy Carroll