Wednesday, 19 September 2012

Mystic Rhythms ~ "Simple Man"

Poetry Of Sorts
~ Simple Man ~
 LISTEN  TO  THE  POEM (SOON)

Simple Man

I am but a simple man
My winters jagged teeth have not
It's cold, I'm old
The rest, I forgot

I'm living to a simple plan
My oceans dagger's edge decline
The water's wet
The rest isn't mine

I'm waiting for a simple girl
Whose eyes dark emeralds eschew
She's cool, no fool
In sum, well, she'll do

I watch my simple flag unfurl
Heraldic fanfare leave it out
It flaps around
Some know what it's about

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© 2012 
Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free - Contact me directly for photo tours, interviews, exhibitions, etc.

Mystic Rhythms ~ "Twoetry Collection 1"

Poetry Of Sorts
~ Twoetry Collection 1 ~
 LISTEN  TO  THE  POEM (SOON)


Wicked

The wicked side of Twitter
At the risk of sounding bitter
Is the withered chance to witter
And it hurts

Owls

To wit, to woe, the owls know
Just how far this has got to go
And if it's crap then be it so
I'll drop it

Spark

This Facebook farce is quite a lark
Spinning our lives out in the dark
Squinting for a tiny spark
To see by

Slurry

I woke up in a flurry
Had to publish in a hurry
But the worry was the slurry
Of my mind

Storm

I've invented a new form
It's not so removed from the norm
Three raucous rhymes four lusty lines
Come the storm

Time

I was thinking of the past
Tempting to tone that things don't last
Old Father Time is ticking fast
One more chime?


Dust

In an act of selfish lust
An almost onanistic must
Time to stop before my liver
Turns to dust

Not


Twoefully underrated
Relatively unrelated
Tweet collections unabated
And why not


Quarter


Although I have a daughter
I ain't doing what I oughter
Should have called her more than once a
Damn quarter


Election


Fourteen tweets in each collection
Cured and curdled to perfection
I'm quite tempted to declare:
Election!


Balls


Such a funny little man
Juggles his balls as much he can
Jump up and downy go the fan
Football, man


Word


My love is like a soaring bird
Whence came this wave, this sacred word
I wide-eyed look up wisely
For the turd


Way


After some investigation
And a bit of exploration
Seems that excrapolation
Is the way


Penny


If friends were ten a penny
Do you think I'd still have any
Given that I don't have many
Anyway?



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© 2012 
Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free - Contact me directly for photo tours, interviews, exhibitions, etc.

Tuesday, 18 September 2012

Mystic Rhythms ~ "Why Do Women"

Poetry Of Sorts
~ Why Do Women ~
 LISTEN  TO  THE  POEM (SOON)

Why Do Women

She attaches her hair
At the party with her elbows high
Armpits bare and exposed
They say
It's a subconscious sexual signal
Par excellence
And she's an adept
Like she's had a tutor
But I'm no suitor

On the phone
One hand holds plastic 
While the other
Punctuates
Every
Word
Conducting 
Like it can be heard
Like her vocal sidekick
But I'm no psychic

But when she passes a stranger
Her gazelle gaze belies her stride
Jogs the strap of her bag
A little raise upon her shoulder
A wee bit bolder
A little snugger
But I'm no mugger

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© 2012 
Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free - Contact me directly for photo tours, interviews, exhibitions, etc.

Mystic Rhythms ~ 'Could It Be?'

Poetry Of Sorts
~ Could It Be? ~
 LISTEN  TO  THE  POEM (SOON)

Could It Be?

Could it be that sadder
Than a drunk without a drink
Is a drink without a drunk?
A think without a thunk?
Elephant without a trunk
And other notions to debunk?

Could it be that badder
Than a Jackson dressed in black
Is some insomniatic skunk
Pining for old seventies punk
Headphones around his lank hair slunk
Another A+ English flunk

Could it be that madder
Than a poet in the throes
Of writing pure prosaic junk
Is a mild Buddhastic monk?
The one into his mind quite sunk
The other forging for the funk?

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© 2012 
Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free - Contact me directly for photo tours, interviews, exhibitions, etc.

Mystic Rhythms ~ 'Doing Up The Garden'

Poetry Of Sorts
~ Doing Up The Garden ~
 LISTEN  TO  THE  POEM (SOON)

Doing Up The Garden

We're doing up the garden
Tho' I found it fine before
A tiny patch just ten by four
Sitting right outside the door
Who could ask for more
The ideal place to snore
Or possibly to store
Things you don't won't any more
Even memories of yore
Able to cut you to the core
That denim jacket that I wore
Duly dying on the floor
My first real bike that bid me soar
The little shed that saw me score
All reduced to one sad chore
For
We're doing up the garden

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© 2012 
Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free - Contact me directly for photo tours, interviews, exhibitions, etc.

Mystic Rhythms ~ 'Syrianna'

Poetry Of Sorts
~ Syrianna ~
 LISTEN  TO  THE  POEM (SOON)

Syrianna

Another village massacred
In the name of freedom
Or is it oppression?
Or opposition
I wonder which side
They'll all be on
When the fighting's over
And there are no more sides

Another embassy bombed to hell
Or is it heaven
Or purgatory
Depending on
Which side you're on
Although now all the walls are down
You could say
There are no more sides

Another unit on night patrol
Ambushed by terrorists
Or freedom fighters
Or mercenaries
Choosing sides for a day
With reasonable pay
And a bit of a thrill
Doing things their way

Our lives are full of sides to be on
Or teams or nationalities
Or species
And the randomness of it
Makes me squirm
Or laugh like when
I boiled the ants
On the grass
  As a kid
Because I could
I guess I'd chosen sides


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© 2012 
Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free - Contact me directly for photo tours, interviews, exhibitions, etc.

Monday, 17 September 2012

Mystic Rhythms ~ 'You Are Here'

Poetry Of Sorts
~ You Are Here ~
 LISTEN  TO  THE  POEM (SOON)

You Are Here

You Are Here
Is there anything else you need to know?
You are here
The little sticker tells you so
Held in fear
Without a clue which way to go
You are here
A finger held out tests for snow

You are here
Like a babe in a bucket trying to grow
You are here
So tired of going with the flow
Too much beer
But not enough to hit death row
You are here
A-watching life pass in slow-mo

Feeling queer
With a sense of a time to slip the bow
Single tear
Upon your cheek it's time to glow
You are here
A mind made up to skip the woe
Life so dear
It's now to go and face the foe

You are here
Gonna grab that sticker like a pro
You are here
With no more moments left to blow
Get this clear
You'll sweep down mighty like a crow
You are here
And there's something you have to show

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© 2012 
Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free - Contact me directly for photo tours, interviews, exhibitions, etc.

Saturday, 15 September 2012

Mystic Rhythms ~ 'Low Life'

Poetry Of Sorts
~ Low Life ~
 LISTEN  TO  THE  POEM (SOON)

Low Life

My garb is murky greyish brown
The railway tracks a drab down town
Thick scattered chunks of gravel
Mark the urban mouse playground

Your garbage is my daily bread
Discarded crumbs can fill my head
An apple core is ample
To send me soundly to bed

I grab whatever comes my way
The thunder monsters hold no sway
I look them in the eye and
Live to lurk another day

You grub me up I'm looking down
No moon to light your distant frown
As tiny urban mousy
Scurries by without a sound

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© 2012 
Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free - Contact me directly for photo tours, interviews, exhibitions, etc.

Mystic Rhythms ~ 'Make Of It You Will What'

Poetry Of Sorts
~ Make Of It You Will What ~
 LISTEN  TO  THE  POEM (SOON)

Make Of It You Will What

Have tears fallen from your ears like water bombs lately?
I'll bet you anything you like they haven't mate
And unless your dinner plate is graced with donkey breast and thistles
I'm afraid your insanity's second rate

Loonies take their madness mildly and their fate surely
Dancing downhill dressed in pigswill with a heart pure
Shooting off a diatribe and firing shedloads of old missiles
Clearly hoping that they'll never find a cure

Who let the nutters and their mutters throw a wobbly?
Rule the world with wild abandon and a hand job
The asylum's out for summer and the inmates stroke their bristles
While the rest of us get smacked right in the gob

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© 2012 
Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free - Contact me directly for photo tours, interviews, exhibitions, etc.

Mystic Rhythms ~ 'Are You There?'

Poetry Of Sorts
~ Are You There? ~
 LISTEN  TO  THE  POEM (SOON)

Are You There?

So much of poetry is bollocks these days
Trying to rhyme recycled grime with she says
Or not rhyming at all just letting lines fall
Over to the next one like a curtain
Call me out and shout about it and then some
Doubt the rhythm wending to a wayward drum
Find your own path, never mind the snooty bores
And most of all make sure to make it yours

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___________________________________________________________________________________
© 2012 
Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free - Contact me directly for photo tours, interviews, exhibitions, etc.

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