radical beat poet .. .
wherever dust settles
and the folded flag lays flaccid
sprinkled with bloods of the innocent
a partizan and his gun
the zealot in his zeal
pontificates of power rest easy
who hold the bigger gun
wield one thousand brave men
and women in their khaki's
and their wine epaulets
their medals shining brightly
to catch heaven's glory
through the sun edged clouds
where thousands lay dead
on fields of Flanders
the killing fields
we spoke of once before
we stood among the ghosts
nailed to white concrete posts
each had his pieces placed in a box
his femur and his clavicle
his broken head with one eye rolling
his splintered leg
young men's testicles
hanging freely
we can put this down to loyalty
frailty; ignorance
or hang their memories
on an epitaph upon the skyline
where once Mary Magdalene lay
to see her beloved walking
in the gardens of Gethsemane
and other bolden stories
we read from a large, black leather tome
carried out on Sundays
past the unknown soldier
the woman caught in sin
pro-creation's fight continuing
in the backstreets, in the dark rooms
wherever dust settles
schemes as plans are made
mankind's ingenuity imagined slavery
they wrote a doctrine to support it
ripped pages from the tome
verses that lay heavy
as were a priest's used tunic
laid beneath the sturdy oak lectern
brother Bartholomew once fashioned
from rough, sawn timber:
brother Bartholomew
who read from the Imitation of Christ
by à Kempis each morning
flagellated to avoid masturbation
when he imagined the breath
or touch or breast of a young woman
the softness of her kiss
her splendid conversation
his shoulder blades raw to touch
with unhealed lacerations
did not deny him
his beliefs or erections
until he found his knotted rope
and drove the monster from him
but when he dreamed
he dreamed the son of man
he dreamed of Sister Martha
among the crockery and the ovens
a stove where he found her naked
spilt his Onas seed on the ground
wherever dust settles
fashionable pessimism ensues
as when mentioning God
you become the hypocrite
the racist, fascist
Islamist or Jew
much worse you are a gentile
who in seeing light has the tainted view
upon the hills of Armageddon
where saints, sinners and dark angels
wait to birth their rights
unravel earth's new skies
Enoch knowing God became no more
Job's end was greater than his before
Jacob wrested the angel
who touched his thigh
the four horsemen approaching
arriving late and saying peace
peace to you my brother, oh sister
where no peace may be found
where are the bells ringing
at the sepulchre
of the ascension
of the dead and dying
wherever dust settles
there you will find
leaches cling to staircases
that raise you up
lift you from the dark pool
where pupfish and toads congregate
and mimic creation
in their cold bloodied way
detached and adjacent
from any human sway
we have lost friends over less
travelled assertive into death valley
and returned confused
©edenbray today13.07.2026
.
edenbray ☢︎ - a BEAT POET 
SISYPHUS and HIS STONE
Sisyphus and his stone .. .
Pushing the rock up a hill
did not seem as vapid as
it had for twenty years or more
i was submerged in a pool of
philosophy and yearning
i did not understand
whatever was expected
as if anything had been
expected at all; pushing
a lifeless shapeless entity
when others emerged out
of darkness we sat together
reminiscing of the past:
victories, nostalgia and regret
uncertain plans for the future
it seemed an absurd venture
i learned to chisel at the rock’s
face, make changes to its shape
there emerged a likeness to myself
i soon became dissatisfied with
each day the rock appeared
a little heavier, more difficult
to grasp – i took a hammer
and pummelled it to dust
gathered in a builder’s sack
i tied the sack with rope to
make a sling and yoked it to
my back; i dragged the awesome
bag yet yearned to feel again
the rasp of rock against my skin
i spoke with the chemist and
a builder, learned by apothecary
of arts; burned powder in a
kiln, mixed in my sand and
a little water: recreated stone.
my new rock was square with
corners, smooth, and plain
more unwieldy than before
i made a lever for my shoulder
to move this monolith i’d made
the more i learned of science
and philosophy the heavier
my responsibility to the gods
for the charge they had given
the more i wished not to become a slave
each time the rock hurtled
back toward the ground it lost
another corner, another edge
i remained determined at my
duty i would not relent
futility of life and despair
grew inside me as days passed
yet i remained happy at my work
catching moments of pure joy
as I wandered down the hill
life seemed soon it might
end and my rock be left alone
i had learned to think of others
my rock had turned to bone
flesh of my flesh; dear to me
the day arrived at summit of a
hill i realised were in fact a cliff
i made my leap of faith into the sea
a hundred leagues below; my rock
fell back as before and i was free
..
©edenbraytoday15.08.2026
Share this: