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Organic Prose - Glenn Syndal
This is the first of many books I intend to put out. It's called 'Organic Prose'. I chose the title in an attempt to describe my writing style - homegrown, naturopathic and free-flowing. Not all of the poems rhyme, but they ARE all designed to get you thinking and doing a bit of questioning of your own. The whole book is a long "conversational" piece, a mixture of prose and philosophical chatter in between each piece. It can be read as one long monologue, or individually as seperate pieces.



Format: 44 pages (or 22 double-sided), A5 soft-cover design.
Release date: November, 2008.
Cost: buying it online costs a mere $4.00. Two small gold coins.
Or it's $5.00 in shops.

How to buy:
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or if you're completely unable to do make use of any of those options, you can email me and we can figure something out.
See 'Contact' page for a valid email address.


***All copyright for the poetry on this page is automatically copyrighted to me. Please don't plagiarise my work! If you're interested in using some of my poetry, please contact me.***


The first two pieces below are both featured in "ORGANIC PROSE".

This first one is actually one of my very earliest pieces, many moons ago now.
I went to pick up a friend at 1am, and I was standing next to my car waiting
for him and staring up at the moon, and I wrote this while I was waiting.

The Unphased Moon
------------------
The moon doesn't discriminate,
nor does it care
about the times we live in,
or the way we wear our hair.

The moon never changes its mind,
nor does it care how you dress,
or if you howl at it
while getting things off your chest

the moon doesn't need to know 'bout culture
and the fashion of the times
what music the kids are listening to
or if any of the lyrics rhyme.

No, the moon is, as it was
2000 years ago before civilization
it casts not a critical eye
over the wonders of human creation.

Stare at the moon, ye can
just as a poor beggar boy might
a hundred years ago in a dark London laneway
it cast him his only light.

The stillness of the evening
or the most frightening storm
phases the moon not
it shines its light without prejudice, without scorn.
------------------

I really believe in surrealism.
To me, it's as close to freedom as writing can get.
This is one of my abstract surrealist poems.

A Lion's Roar Muffled
------------------
A nuclear reactor for a brain
a critical eye
cast on a refurbished antique chair
The speculation
of a well-groomed Englishman
the trouble I seek
is the trouble I need
random alimonies and marriages
explosions of the soul
plastic chaos
alighted in my loins
an ebb, like a tide
like an ocean
like a small green bean
a small blue car drives by
and I struggle to swallow my last mouthful.
I awake again
and I'm transported to another world
a world of lies, cheaters and disrespecters
insolent in their authenticity.
The characteristic matter of a grey brain
gives rise to a certain egg yolk mentality
a conga from the heavens falls
and is picked up by a naked 8 year old female native
she strikes it once, then dances, flaying her arms and legs around wildly.
a celebration of the raindrop
a dissertation of the magic sideshow
a small piece of tentacle wrapped in a ghost's handbag
the toilet seat was left up
and it died of a heart attack way too young.
it's green, the steam
it's cream, the dream
it's mean, the team
it's Dean, the Dean
an usher with a bad case of laryngitis
coughs into a bed of nails, then laughs at his misfortune
he opens a can of sardines
and pours them down his trousers
asking passers-by "Is this how you treat them? Is it? IS IT?"
an optic-nerve in an old bishop
clicks, and breaks
then silent agony
of a small boy in a parish.
The clergy in the audience
the public in the Vatican.
The non-existent time-frame of invapidity.
------------------

This one was inspired by hearing a recording of Jimi Hendrix playing one of his songs,
'Red House' live at Winterland in 1968. Absolutely mesmorising.

Ecstasy Through Sound
----------------------
the notes cry out "play me! PLAY ME!"
they speak to the audience
we are held mesmerised as
the artist waves his magic wand,
his electric gate to heaven

and leaves us behind,
wallowing in regret
for the loss of someone
who captured freedom and delivered it
to us through our ears and souls

play with your notes, magician!
entrance us! Enlighten us!
Open our eyes, for just a moment,
to the world that has been hiding from us
the world of ecstasy through sound

invent a mood, oh mighty master
allow us to bow at your feet!
convert the unconverted
replace reality with unreality
smother the universe with your fingers

everything becomes clean
with just a simple touch of your hand
bend and run, slide and stretch
grant us a fleeting glimpse
at the magic of music

there are no limitations!
there are no expectations!
there is only one!
there is only freedom!
Ecstasy through sound.
------------------