Alone With Void .. .


It was not that I began to hear voices
which signalled my anxiety
it was more tears that began to flow
at really most anything
the line of a song
an irrational concern
for someone I did not know

The sadness, the secret drinking
I made sure I did not show
emotionally unstable
I thought they would say
they, parked up in my street
they heard every word
that now seems so absurd

Somewhere down the way
the cable became disconnected
from the speaker – no sounds!
your chin hits the ground
you still hear music playing
with one speaker
you just know something is not right

Bubblegum solutions get you by
you can hear people talking
about you in your mind
the urge to cry always stronger
a tendency to lie to yourself
drinking is an option
it comes earlier each day

Finally, talk with a doctor
an angel on my phone
she is able to deliver the perfect line
mister-e you have an illness
I prescribe this solution
it is then I admit my condition
and the river soon runs dry

Days, months, hours are all the same
when you’re alone with emotional pain
that silent ache within your brain
you’re reaching out
through your doubts
to a boy you once knew
who isn’t you but just a shell

It is never gone this cloud hanging
throughout the world over
there are people in a worse position
yet the function of our versatility
interrupted, exposes us
to a dangerous fragility
we never should ignore


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The Laurel Crypt

revision: 9/11/21

.   .   .


By the way of Dallinson’s dark alley
I skipped the journey of the cold returning
tortured souls I thought, their coats heavy
with night, the burden of their daily wages
I wrested my eyes, the lights, the sticky rain

To journey for one minute doubtless, free
down still cobbled, quiet passages where 
I hoped again to see my love, offer friendship
if she could still sense fragrance behind the walled
floweres of my desire, Jasmine, Lilac, Laurel beds

This para-cloak of wetted stones melancholy
my collar pulled round, I the thief who creeps
in memory of a much sweeter time, no injury, no folly
a sunshine lisp and blessed her summer dress
clean smile, breathing eyes, hair natural as honey

The august of my thunder- set, there is no losing
as peoples chant their holly wishes, exchange kisses
lightning strikes best when unbeguiled but precedes
the deepest drama, that rumbles under, if only love
did not carry hurt to others, happiness which smothers

Starved of light the key now lay within my pouch-
pocket oozing, surrendered of my choosing to unfold
the sight of my love after all this unnecessary time
the clock on the highroad of the mundane chimed nine
and I tippy-toeing, a street-bum in the ashy shadows

I had time to contemplate my dark-wood choices
watch the flames turn rosewood to ebony then redolence
still chived of the sweetness of a kiss that woke the thunder
of those many conversations of bliss, nought happened
but now they would, I would see my Freya, norse princess

Two sailors are approaching dressed in alcohol and cheer
I pass, stepping to the left, bereft of virtue continuing
the leaning steps distended, another light showing, slants 
grey raindrops, turns this medieval scene Karloffian the night
Shakespeare is rising, attention mused, another passer-by

Brianna, my age to thee you said was too advanced, prior
though might I have been thy wedding charm, thou the new 
dressed in gentian blue, adoration thy embroidered garter
I was away in my revelries, the rain descending came stronger
woke me to my task, the diablos leering, my angels protect

The flowered wall lay silently to the left precluded by my camber
I caught faint aroma, ambivilent in consequence I was assured
of gesture yet also certain such floweres had long departed
as swallows, the purpled swift, do their nests in gabled rafters
beneath those broken tiles, gutters, in the street they hung over

Like the drunk I found and stepped over, he in blackest coma
besides his girth I found the door, my key to open, step inside
the windows blinded foresaw the cold, clinical light of science
of medicine and I previously assured my angel lay not scarred
within the dormitory of the dead and fallen, the east-wing crypt

The while I intoned so dark a discovery, the picture in my mind
remained the same and blossoming, of days we were alone
the walk by the river, her secret passage she had shown
good-naturedness, quiet contentment yet a patient longing,
dawning of a fervent hope, passion ham-strung, wracked

I slipped, nervous to sound, not ghost nor ghoul but prying eyes
who might not try to understand this tryst with love on sacred ground
as tryst it be were my lover able to welcome me this grainy night
who never welcomed me before but coy mischance accepted
now the dance of our strange romance, her beauty, her loyal beast

This turning of the lever I had reached allowed me breath, belief
I could not contemplate nor anywhere the taint of death
certainly not hers as I scrambled for the door to enter hades
and in the whitest room, the blackness, a briefest lady-shape
draped, daubed by one sheet as my confederate had promised

Hush of night gathers as an orchestra to tune, I the band leader
who raised his arm not to muster yet betray shadows on the wall
they travelled, magnified, the yardarm on a ship a’fore it sails
then the sheet, I yanked it at the corner it fell as rivers to a waterfall
and there she lay as sweet and soft, yet cold and pinched of grey

Her form, as of any other woman, now my torture concluded
upon her face the faintest smile, her hair fell long on morbid sheets
the rest of her now complete, her breasts, her stomach and her valley                     quite how I had imagined her, in life and death, she the perfect lover
I touched the bleaching skin in places believing not that she was dead

I could see visions, angels in attendance, her music a choral cadence
she, more perfect now I thought, I clasped her calmness, her clamminess
lifting her naked torso, stiff like dead branches to me, hot tears spiralling
as early rain spots from a golden cloud with blackened belly, this rain                    falling on her jellied breasts, mounds that held my sad regret closer to me

It came the awe-filled realisation, I lay her gently back upon the
covered slab, her arms awkward, like de-assembling a deck-chair 
a quiet gurgling, acrid smell of death, my Brianna long, since departed
I reached for a petri dish too late, the pallid contents of my stomach
were writhing on the floor, her carcass now mis-shapen, haunting

On leaving Dallinson’s undertakers I caught the menthol in the air
the rain now departed as my love, eucalyptus, lemon and mint
that ionised feeling after-storms will bring I remembered as a child
collecting butterflies with pins, the trick to finish them without distress
or damage, laurel leaves in a glass jar, put them to sleep never to waken

                                                        ©edenbraytoday11.09.2021 (revision 9/11/21)

#Author’s Note :-

Some may view this a morbid tale and yet it is ‘a song of love’.

Although not in any way pictorially related to the horror of 9-11 it is nonetheless, dedicated to all those who lost loved-ones at 9-11 in the strangest and most tortuous of circumstances at the behest of warped minds and the ugliest, most calculating and putrid terrorism the world has probably ever known – although recognising the depravity that humanity is capable of sinking to – I doubt that is really a true statement at all.

On the morning after the horror of 9/11 I spoke with an associate who had lost all his workmates, he had stepped out of the office when the atrocity occurred. Cash was a bright, intelligent, imaginative and enthused young stockbroker – that morning after – his world was destroyed probably for ever – Cash was a muslim, a creative, promising young worker and a very decent human being – my heart goes out to Cash right now wherever he may be and all the lovers, fulfilled or unrequited who lost friends, family and their hopes for humankind that terrible, terrible, terrible sordid day!

I wish you all your still so painful happiness.

– edenbray 11th September 2021 (revision:9/11/21)

illustration – Ophelia by Sir John Everett Millais

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Hematoma .. .

hematoma 2

it’s a national hematoma .. .

the phone rang, a voice spoke
but I could not decipher
the identity of the caller
they pronounced my name wrong
the world turns slowly
I don’t think I know you

the video ran, presentation followed
I had not heard of this
particular secret for mankind
it would not be available for ever
the opportunity is closing
I don’t think I understand

the mailer drops upon the floor
I thought we were not
using those anymore
they announced it on the news
to save the planet earth
I get increasingly confused

the telegraph poles next to our land
they are taking them down
and the power lines
running cables underground
the town is now a safer place
I cannot get used to change

the blood that runs within our veins
runs faster everyday
hypertension greater
scientists agree unanimously
carbon emissions must not be
I try to keep the planet healthy



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h0Pℨ – 弗Ki№ – same in any language!


h0Pℨ – 弗Ki№ – same in any language!

Nothing is taboo
or beyond the pale
not one thing is out of reach
your future is in your grasp
possess it, claim it
make it your own

That alcoholism?
you can beat it
that depression you can climb out?
take possession
of your circumstances
however bad they are

Never contemplate
your own suicide
think of those it will hurt
seek help and talk about it
to just one someone
it will help you

Talk to God – if he/she is there
that window in the sky
talk to yourself and remember it is ok to cry
we all need to cry
talk to anyone you can find
will take the time to listen

If you have done wrong
then please confess it
get down on your knees and pray
face the consequences
of your actions man, woman, child
how much worse can it be?

There is a path you can find
there is somewhere, someone
with an understanding mind
this is not all about you anyway
things you may have done
it is all about the children

It is about the future
your God-given mind
whatever you may think or feel
whatever shit you have done
don’t make it any worse
today your life begun!

You say you’re a leopard
you can’t change your spots
you say you don’t believe in anything
well I say you’re a liar and a snake
who needs to change their skin
and start wearing hope-sKin !

hope is the sun in the sky
that one wet tear in your eye
that mangy bird that just flew by
that old woman on her knees
the one cop who isn’t corrupted
by the system

hope is that child playing
the one in a hospital bed
missing an arm, she still manages to smile
that nurse in Afghanistan
that woman crying
whose bad-son is dead

shout about it, talk about it
get your skin out of the air
I’m wearing my new hope-sKin
I’m wearing it on Sunday, this Tuesday
any day – today – hope-sKin!


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Flashlights Over America!



.   .   .

Horizontal, these electric-karma streaks flashing
   the jagged teeth of a leviathan smiling
across the nighttime line running low, above
   the clouded blue-black ink of deepest sea
where fish swarm blind and creatures lived as
   street bums with bottles of darkened spirits
methylated and rolled up in cardboard, newsprint
   they were there all the time on the sea bed
they still are, in doorways to plush accommodations
   but not to welcome warmly anyone to America

Mammy, pappy, imagined the lifelong day
   to live in a hovel in westerland on a spot o’land
they climbed aboard a schooner bound for Nova Scotia
   the yellow sun fell on their valley creating an aura
civilisation moves a pace, mid the gleans and beinns
   oblivious to the march of time and arctic peoples
across the seas or in grand towns, histories form medieval
   not London nor Constantinople but where the buffalo roam
American Indians, tribes, bands, first nation colonials
   they never planned to invite visitors from overseas

Columbus found convolvulus wrapped around it’s spine
   a nation dressed in morning glory at its premiere
gypsy peoples beyond the origins of time knew horror
   before the massacre at high-school Columbine
primitive arrows quivered, the north plateau it shivered
   in windy wastes, moccasined feet, keyholes in the snow
no wild west show or signs given for the way they should go
   Japethites, their journey through time, a peaceful people
indigenous, native, holy, disrespected by their invaders
   characterised by Hickok showmen with tales phoney

Gunshots in Chi-ca-goo, her baby in a papoose
   stay my child before the bluecoats come to plunder
is it any wonder I lay my head down on this land
   separate thought in consideration, thoughts be damned
we carry in our holster recollections of our fathers lands
   the tyranny of the masses bad as conscience sags
at the corral of any nation be it India, Australasia or Siam
   it is a conundrum how any nation may be formed
except we must question how the death of small children
   could be grounds accepted for ought but revolution

How fast they grew, children of our loins, this pioneer land
   its laws, customs, towns and states, America the brave
raped the sea of whales, fought within itself, retired its braves
   who tried to make amends so meekly for the use of slaves
yet when was their freedom considered, torn from other lands
   the mighty dream rolled on, America the free it binds
black man’s wrists with practises, beatings, murders so unkind
   yes cities grew, the dream it never died while the worst bits
America you intended to hide, come clean thou huge imposter
   you were leviathan smiling at the gates with blood in your eyes

America, your searchlights blazing (might) winkle out the lies
   midst global darkness, eliminating treatise you despise
your articles of freedom state reasons to build such beacons
   yet your suburban cops are still an alarming sight to see
within your new, fragile, national identity, incapable of apology
   Maddison’s constitution is creaking at the knees yet
intellects for democracy still agree there is no other banner
   whether star-spangled or plastered with new-left lather
you would rather take a cut-throat to the neck in secret than
   join a private war, your efforts to police the world dying on the floor

Flashlights shine above New York, sirens sound in Connecticut
   waters rise in New Orleans, a teeming monster has evolved
who stepped from out bleach-ed sea to tame the blistered land
   learned to build a concrete utopia in a desert made with sand
walk around on Michigan glass where bottles they are made
   swim in Californ-i-a with silver fish, ride technologies wave
Pittsburgh’s steel is hard as hell, who rang the Philadelphia bell
   on a visit to sweet Virginia, we call on Washington for justice
consecrate the constitution to absolve the terror from your past
   prove your repentance of misdeeds that held the world aghast

When John the Baptist met Salomi no one called him for his role
   in adolescent atrophy, he recognised his time to step aside
ever the black sun falls smoothly from out of western skies
   my alma-mater sings so holy the purple clouds of morning
we see shepherds blush-red warning, stand in a lightening storm
   kiss the clouds of our pollution as they fold us in their arms
America you might still fulfil your mighty dreams of youth
   anoint the crumbling heads of Rushmore’s four to resurrect
begin again to find solutions, your people wait on line
   we still hear your eagle cry, see your flashlight in our sky


Author’s note:~

probably unfinished – am I a republican? – am I a democrat? – am I even an American? – do I believe in America? or democracy? or unity? or humanity? or peoples of the world? or religion? or God? or women, children or men? do I believe? do I have hope? you must choose .. .

#hopeSkin – #hopeSkin – #hopeSkin . .. i do

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converging lines

Nineteen seventy nine…
    talking taken epic art
    take your foot from my collar,
    your hands off my plough
Your armature of gladness
    your courage
          are you listening now?
So, I had looked for a reason
    that was
          more than a feeling
It was 1979, my face
    learned to frown
    that is something you must own

Characterisation attempts to relay
    the essence of trial
    the night time vigil
    a bloodied cudgel
An essay of a borrowed spade
    an ode, a captured smile,
    a long conversation
    with a phone dial’s emery
Like what happened with
    Carmine Galante
          when the pressure was off
    all untouchables become
          touchable and unholy

Khmer Rouge in the news
    the fall of Phnom Penn
          isolation tomorrow enshews
    retreating to the Thai border
          the Pol Pot regime is over
          in Cambodia
Stagnant water smells
    yet the bells tell
          Gerontius is praying well
          at the demise of the Diocese of Cariati

And if I were a happy year
    to borrow moments then laugh it off
A year to remember well
    on the back of a horse called Rubstic
          a slogan horse called Troy
O joy if you were to meet me
    on the other side of the pillow
Where the sun, orange like apricots
    upon the tongue is holy bread
John Paul II off to Poland
    Solidarity brings papal cheer
In the US of A – John Spenkelink no more
    tied to his electric chair
          USA, China – establish
                full diplomatic relations
          with the aid of the United Nations
    China then invades Vietnam
          needs no help at all

Jimmy Carter tries
    to bring the hostages home
          Dukes of Hazzard debut on CBS
              the Happy Meal is born
    In Wigan miners die
These were the days that widows still cried
    your bees run out of hunny
          your hot summer
    Pink Floyd get it in the can
          Phi’rr’ips! the compact disc peepul’
              consign vinyl to ‘the Wall’

1979 – with the tape’s still running
    politicians believing
          you can still win with cunning
Ayatollah Khomeini back in Tehran
    that’s in Iran
          where he is creating a Council
          of the Islamic Revolution
Somali voters approve
    a liberal constitution
          meanwhile back in London
          IRA bombers kill Airet Neave
          then later Louis Mountbatten

In the east or in the west
    babies continue to be born
          brother wants his little sister
    Abba release chiquitita
          its the International Year of the Child
    Nickelodeon arrives

Josef Mengel becomes no more 
    while out swimming
          the death-stroke
    not such bad a way to go
          for an angel of death
          not gasping for breath
    in a gas chamber
Montenegro has a shudder
    earth shares the darkest of human secrets
          that are not secret’s anymore
Heart of Darkness
    Making Movies
    on the red side of a bus
          Josef Conrad’s novella
          in the hands of Ford Copola
  Apocalypse Now, in Me-k-ico
        428 million gallons of crude oil
              spill out in the sea
          and snow falls in the Sahara

Greenland getting autonomy
    from Denmark
          not particularly
          good news for me
    the modern world keeps on turning
          people’s passions
              feelings burning
    Klansmen shoot
          to kill 5 marching workers
          of the communist party
          at a death to the clan rally
          in Greensboro, Carolina
    Gay marchers lead the way
          in Washington, DC
    ‘Guardian Angels’ forming
          crime fighters swarming
          an army of unarmed vigilantes
          in New York City

Across the universe
    Pioneer on a probing mission
          misses Saturn by 13, 000 miles
    where no man has gone before
          in the same year as the groovy
          ‘Startrek the Movie’
    and still the pope has time to travel
    to Mexico and New York City’s
        a tornado hits in Wichita Falls
              and 42 lie dead

This motion of change
    not a year like any other
          not one we can smother
    charter, steal or barter
          with another year of horror
              from another pack of days
          sealed, clean, unused
    waiting for the dealer
          to pick through the wager

1979, you leave me rasping
    careless of any purpose
    candid in my expectations
    waiting like the frog, inept
    who is alive in water boiling
    with no concept of fear
    or alarm or desire to escape                         

                            © edenbraytoday12.05.2021


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the east fen plains where wanders my lonely heart .. .

the east-fen planes where wanders my lonely heart

…   …   …

The exhalation of a longish dream where I am happy
where greylag geese arrive each day honking
where each night the sun settles on the East Kirby hills
and there is always the sound of working tractors ploughing
the east fen plains where wanders my lonely heart
I scribble words in a blank notebook with a blunted pencil


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Amateurs Unite!

amateur boxer


… … …

My whole life I have been dogged by the concept of the expert, drugged

the so-called professional, the know it-all, who surround themselves

with their own cacophony of self deceit, inflated and exaggerated flattery

self masturbators, pseudo-intellectuals who concoct massive illusion


They willingly deceive themselves by their own shameless self promotion

their indulgence and what is more they feed and feast on that very praise

they invoke themselves, from the masses, which may be few or may be many

yet there is always, there is always a willing crowd – I abhor their arrogance!


When you are alone of their nagging lust, prepossessing your affirmation

when your 1 dollar and 46 cents will no longer purchase a single, bloated meatball

it has left you bereft of any sense of creative objectivity or valued jurisprudence

will you then still embark your ascent to climbs of personal truth and appropriation


Discard their conversation, free yourself of their communication, inhale, exhale

the passages of time have taught the observation that brings us to the conclusion

their wisest estimations are corrupted by personal manipulation, recommendations

they do it with mirrors, or they do it with their own hands, discarding the evidences


the amateur is blithe, their eyes are wide, their magnificence awkward, impolite

of characterisation, unaware of the professional, their skills are innate, unifying

of wonderment, they corral only what they require, without the crass of stockpile

or any need to stand at the window of conceit and admire any view they made




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…   …   …

letter from the sour Milky Ways of All hell breaks loose


the flood AFTER us, only in our wishful thinking
AMIDST the climate deluge engulfing us
and the Taliban BEFORE us



edenbray – marvellous write – strident, clear, concerning – a warning we must heed!

Great poem. 

reply:   25 minutes ago 

smilingStocks – indeed, Edenbray, our home is on fire, time for immediate action, merci

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O’ Fragonard .. .


the artist


O’ Fragonard you wished to become a serious artist

to climb the stairs of fame and fortune to the stars

your accomplishments are known, wise and certain

as we lift the purple, velvet curtain, hide those scars


O’ Rosalind your body beauty is for the view of all

Utrillo paint Saint Sebastian in your palest umber

leave the gash of crimson, foil the Augustine design

still left to feed and nourish thee the beautiful mind


Salvatore then leave your studio, venture far to find

embrace the sorrow of your choosing hue the bruising

Guernica enslaving, empowering lays flat on its back

commands the viewer rape and be raped it is your fate


O’ Diego, Diego you who grew so old before your time

who believed the great royal painter Velazquez should

not ever wear a frown but lay his viscosity down upon 

the folded garments of Phillipe V to not only just survive 


What to tell of Auguste Rodin a sculptor of greater charm 

his modelled, clay structures, plastered, porcelain replicas

tidied, mined, refined, the artist almost forgotten reappears 

underneath such bronzed ligatures he speaks full his mind


Arabana county people, Leilamarie Stuart-Likouresis especially

contemporary and indigenous, she goes slowly through the night

carries her own aboriginal light, not trite, meaningless or empty

the traditions of your people are defined forever, artwork bright


George Roualt the unclassifiable – though they continue to excuse

pitre et crucifix dans l’exhibition de l’Académie Royale entre

honneur and recognition beloved to his nation saleur the bench mark

with constraints of a heavy border, the artist’s sperm is overflowing 


Candied, branded, bound and collated these artists’ works cold, unrelated

sedated as we are, rise, lay upon your platformed structure Michelangelo

draw with such intensity, imaginatio, Leonardo, your artist’s cross was heavy

his – ‘hellicopto’ impasto, grisaille, camaieu, murale, his Goerges Rousse graffiti


Aditi Veena a name as good as any other, not a painter, not a model or a brother

yet a faithful artist, true, tried and tested, architecturally invested, female chested

sing for us of peoples values, all the living, long day, wind it round, your ghoonghat

there is no shame here, no mystery, no fake smile, no prejudice, no hidden agenda


..                                                                                  ©edenbraytoday03.08.2021



Author’s note – this took forever to finish, might not seem like it, hope it was worth it





sedated as we are .. .


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