I met John Hegley last week.

I’d been given a precaution from a mutual friend, who is also a poet who told me “Hegley is a great poet but a bit antisocial and up himself” I laughed and said “that’s what they say about almost anyone that's even slightly artistic” Still, I walked away from that conversation convinced but not put off by the idea of meeting him.

My mum has his poetry books on her shelf but when I was introduced to him I don’t know why that was one of the first things I thought to say... "Hello John Hegley, my mum has some of your poetry books on her shelf" good for her! right?

Anyway, the introduction went like this “hey John meet one of our poets in residence” I extend my hand to greet him politely, he shook it and took a second to size me up, then said “the vision will be the first to go” in reference to the fact I don’t wear glasses. I then conveyed myself as a developing artist, sharpening my pencil for an early battle in the killing fields of poetry.

John provided his sharp poetry tools on what was described by Free Word as “a leisurely stroll around the writing industry” which involved walking around Clerkenwell, learning about a well that belonged to a clerk and some inspired moments of Charles Dickens.

We then had a haiku writing and reading session under a tree after hearing more of Hegley’s quirky and engaging poems which were well received by the people on the tour, or the “street gang” as the police would call us. (see members of the gang reading deviant haiku's below)



It was even more entertaining than I expected... and I expected entertainment.

Well done to The Literary Consultancy and Arvon for pulling this off!

p.s Hegley rocks and so does this guy

Poem By Raymond Antrobus 'Keys To Life'

This sign is on one of the doors in the corridoor of Free Word. I had been warned

I've spent a lot of time in front of my computer over the last two weeks, especially at night, and the extent of time never occured to me until my girlfriend came over and literally unplugged it...

"PAY ME SOME ATTENTION!" she exploded ...

It sucked me right out of my virtual reality and I wrote a poem inspired by that moment.

'Keys To Life'

I’m never in my bed; I’m in front of my computer screen
Hitting backspace then enter, escape
And shift my heavy weight into a document page

I open myself

And stare into a blank window
Like holes in a looking glass,

I look past fore front
Typing something, while the caps are locked on
My eyes scream, but the voice is logged off

Crushing my frustration against each button
I can't express myself with emoticons

I wish people spoke in speech bubbles
Life could be easier if it were subtitled

As my world becomes more fantasized and inaudible
The more I plug into portable devises
The more likely I'll get a virus, and won't know how to fight it

I’ve tried to restart and forget what’s inside me,
The hard drive its having a hard time,
Like a car with a blocked exhaust pipe,

I’ve got so much to figure out and take into account,
But I don’t know how much is the right amount, or
Wheatear to type this up, or write this down, now

I’m a man with a mouse, like a man with a weakness,
But a man, with all the controls to delete them, although

I’ve reached this window, with nowhere to scroll,
Like a man with a map and nowhere to go,

Because I belong nowhere,
With no feeling of belonging,
Just a feeling of being unwanted,

Unwanted like memory on a forget me stick,

Unwanted like ‘memory’ on a forget me ‘stick’

As I’m pasted into another document
On another night I don’t sleep,

I reopen myself,
And stare out the window,
And into the street.

The Shop?

En route to Free Word I encountered this mysterious “shop”

A shop that’s forever closed without even a hint of its purpose... hmm...

Almost reminds me of a well stacked, out of reach bookshelf...

OK, we won’t go there again. :-)

Poem – The Book Shelf part 2 – Make sure you read part 1 first. (Below this post)

I’m against the wall, but
I never claimed to be a pedestal,
I get why you’re sceptical, and
I’m not mocking the fact you can’t reach me

That’s your own insecurity, see
I am within reach; ask for a little help,
No one becomes giants by themselves,

You’re right; I’m making a statement,
But you’re looking passed it
It’s easy to take low shelves for granted, so
You’d make a better hype man if you weren’t so lethargic,

I’m glad you noticed me and the books that rest up here
Yeah, even Dan Brown bought people to literature,
Selling 80 million copies of his books this year,

Sure most these titles had their time, but
They’re still good reads with a crease in their spine,
If you don’t like the titles up here, then fine,
I’d happily display your favourite comics, novels and rhymes,

So no beef please, I’m a peaceful shelf,
If you do want a book,
Find a way to help yourself,

And to quickly wrap this up, I want you to remember,
We’re taking writers off the ground at the free word centre.

Poem: The BookShelf

Okay, so

If you'd ever come into the FreeWord Centre Cafe, you'd see they had bookshelves on their wall. Eight feet tall bookshelves.

Here's a picture:

No, there aren't many tall people lurking about the FreeWord Centre. We don't have Lanky parties, we're not scared of mice, our doors aren't all arches, we don't play basketball between dinner/reading Proust. Fair to say no one without a ladder/Broomsticks/Marty McFly style hoverboards will be reaching any of those books soon, which sort of gives the shelf a 'what is thouest point,' kind of vibe in my eyes.

I wrote a poem about it. See below.

It was a decent Thurday,

there's me in the FreeWord cafe

on my laptop

thinking crap up

for a write up

on my blogspot,

ginger beer in left hand,

in the other facebook.

I look over the hedge of my shoulder

My face goes grim, I furrow my brow deep

there's a book shelf on the wall opposite and me

and it have got beef

Yes, I got beef with a shelf

It's no ordinary shelf

It's a twelve foot something tall shelf

And I have a problem with it

NOT EVEN IF I STRETCH MY HAND CAN I REACH THAT PROMISED LAND

Can I reach it's summit I can';t even touch it's bum it's

like it's been designed by a lankiest of Gollums

to keeps it's preciouses from us thieving hobbitsizs Y

would they make a shelf that tall I'm

sure no malice was intended

in this literary palace might be wrong tho,

maybe it's intended for literary giants

sailing through london in SUV

walking on carpets made of WBYEATS

in their sabretooth fur

with slippers made of broken promises

downing lattes on first sip, and swallow rabbits whole

each shoulder a fresh new talent

sporting bunny ears.

Seriously, it's the literary equivalent of a cocktease

look as much as you want, honey but you are not getting these's

oh yeah, there are reachable books in the foyer

but that's like vanity publishing, SO not the point

I want them books in that cafe

them books I can't reach.

Even tho I kno them books don't look that good,

them books very second hand, properly read

like cheap hookers

and butter on bread

that shit's been properly spread

very shanky and hood like

I seen some Dan browns in there

Dan browns never is a good look

Maybe that's what the shelf is saying

we're decaying our standards by putting

shitty books on pedestals

Building shrines in shadow of a twelve foot something shelves

is bound to be shady, very shallow

but one time I became a beanstalk

and the cafe waiter became jack

and I hoisted him to the heaven and he found

Ronald Dahl and Kipling there

so what's that saying

Perhaps I'm being petty

just that I see irony when a shelf is out of

reach of many in the house named free word.

I saw a wheelchair brethren crack his neck back

to catch a glimpse of the rack

he wasn't smiling when he left

'That's nothing,' said an Article 19 lady

'I used to work for booksellers who sold

books in bulk by the yard, to rich folk, to smarten their

mansion shelves.'

Hip-Hop and Rap shakes sphere

Me and Joshua spent the day analysing Shakespeare with London based Hip Hop artist (and sibling of Ms.Dynamite) Akala.

Akala gave us pieces of laminated paper each with a quotation and we (as a group) had to decide whether the quotes were rap lyrics or Shakespeare's prose. An exercise Akala said no one has gotten completely right. We mistook two lines from Shakespeare for Jay-Z lyrics and another two for early Wu Tang Clan... we weren’t embarrassed, it was a surprisingly easy mistake to make.

Akala’s workshop was brilliant overall and it’s a great help in destigmatizing Hip-Hop and reminding us of one of the basic values rap and Hip-Hop offer – creative language. It’s a shame that this is one of the elements that’s lost itself in the commercial bracket of Hip-Hop’s subculture.

Me and Josh found the workshop rewarding when we were given a chance to apply a Shakespearian mentality to our own writing. As the workshop is aimed at 13-18 year olds we defiantly find these kinds of exercises helpful for developing writers and poets.

Akala, at Free Word we salute you sir.

On my way to work... Josh style.

London, town of many faces. Known for it's long shadows, tiny viens, untidy lanes and silly, silly attempts at looking united, because it's not really a show of people getting on, more like people getting on with it. Really.

Here's a collection of what's it's had to show me over the last two weeks.





We're beinig spied on by rainbow bedroom slips. They push their noses up on the window and glare at us, threaten us with slavery and slow death they eventually take over the world, but do we care? No. How could we, when they look so cuuuuuuuuuute (exaggerated 'cute' donated by random passing citypeeps.)




This is Rachel

To Get her to smile this nicely, at you, admit Titanic was made in Ammonia's armpit.




5pm. Holborn. Skanky panty on street.



There is a version of all Seven Wonders in the World in hackney. Case in point: Leaning Bus Stop of Mare Street.





And finally, Maria, the FreeWord Centre Receptionist. She went on holiday to Translyvania
and is now convinced all tall people with cameras are vampires.
something about 'tryingtosuckmysoulGETAWAYGETAWAY!' Strange people.

More to come. I think. Yay.