CATFISH LEAPING .. .

 

Unknown-1

 

Catfish Leaping .. .

 

I was standing on the hillbilly side watching and wondering
How’d they get them black boys up, the sun was setting?
I wonder what they did or why they hanging so grotesque
Them trees, a black silhouette against an orange sky so fine

 

One of them boys wassa’ friend of mine we met while fishing
Now that silhouette won’t leave my mind, that flathead catfish
We reeled it in, cut it down the gut, carried it home for our teas
His to his and mine to mine that orange, blood red sky so fine


Now the fish don’t jump so high I have a nagging pain in my head
Since that silhouette, a pain I cain’ forget, the murmuring stream
It speaks to me, what could have been, not what my fool folks cain’ see
That vermillion sun, the black boys hanging, the catfish jumping

© edenbraytoday03.03.2021

Posted in edenbray POMES, JAZZ POETRY | Tagged | 1 Comment

THIS BRITAIN .. .

THIS BRITAIN .. .

dragons head

.

I woke one day in that awful season pulling wallpaper from the drabbest wall

I heard the cuckoo in my head, that sound I had come to dread and larks ascending

Descending, on an unmade bed where art lives for arts sake neath a poem of bard Blake

.

I woke in context of a bad dream where monsters cavort and roll pale green eyes

Beneath the wonder of clear, bluish skies, the wolds of March on a winters day

In a land of penicillium cheese and home grown ale where the dance to America set sail

.

There the rocks of nature, sandstone, limestone, granite mountains, plundering streams

Wordsworth said to Byron sell me one of your dreams for a sovereign and a ha’penny

Whoever shouts the loudest up on Bleaklow, carry sphagnum moss for the younger Bronte

.

Hardy quipped mid roseships O’Dorchestor, Grande now bows low to her Manchester

But the loss is not lost on all us holy, from Lindisfarne to St Michaels Mount and Gwent

Who wait in an orderly queue in tower block rain for a ticket that’s money well spent

.

As the wood chip paper falls from the wall, I dream of Deborah, the common people

Those spires and chimneys, Lowry men, street dogs, Cambridge punts and steeples

Its time to wake up now, dress the children, gather the wood, honour the good

.

I caught a circle in the sky, the RAF fly around here above the fens, marshland and the wild sea

Gannets patrol from Argentina, those pirate birds disgorge Arctic terns, geese winter from Siberia

We have seaside entertainers – standup Jimmy Carr, the Proclaimers who never need retainers.

.

History is a Book of Kells, a Magna Carta, a Road to Wigan Pier, the Order of the Garter

Questions on a unique quiz for a Bamber Gascoigne starter and we all saw Gazza cry

Shankley, Stein, Busby had other fish to fry on a Friday night in Bootle with Richard Starkey

.

Such malarkey, tis not a limerick Edward Lear to bring good cheer to people dressed in khaki

Over the sea in a pea green boat rivals not Dante, yet Comedy if that is what you want then

Pull up a chair for Will Hay an’ Georgie Formby, you havin’ a giraffe, your sides will split in two

.

For we own a solid culture out under the stars – Olivier, Rutherford, Sirs Alec Guinness, Richard Burton

of early-day saints, the goons, the salt of the earth, shopkeepers, flat caps, Scots and Irish Dragoons

William Shakespeare on the Village Green, Kinks take banter from Noel and Liam Galacher, Damien’s Blurr

..

Listen O’ “Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art” were I to begin again in any other hallowed tone

were I to feast on luncheon vouchers inspired by the Earl of Sandwich, of cucumber, buttered bread and cricket

The ambiguity of reason attested to in season by the likes of Keats, Wordsworth, Benjamin Zephaniah

..

O Britain roll your blood-red carpets down and welcome a history of Queens, Kings and Royal Swans

The history of commerce and monetary exchange, Fleet Street, Bank and Shaftesbury Lane, corgis,

the Hilman Minx and Hawker Hurricane Planes all legends that show disdain for our current inaptitude

..

Stand round Stonehenge or from whence those stones were hued, multitudes Whitman, Pollock imbued

Who left us in the lurch, America bright America born of a virgin bride, taken from Great Britains side

Like the rib of Adams sleep, where pioneers and pilgrims still weep, the pagan circle now complete

..

Barter not the charter of the Mayflower, sweet English rose must once again send her roots down deep

Stand alone in her own sea, build her castles strong as Lancaster and Stirling, Carrickfergus, Caernarfon

We have no more the duty of regret, no one has taken more blame for our Colonial shame disperged of Christian blood

..

Same blood we left in Flanders field or spilt in building civilisations honest moments, we for long enough

Tied to Moses burning bush, laid bare on Isaacs altar, we attest to the democratic oath often more than most

So, this Britain shake your mane, shout your roar, this dragons at the door give him no quarter fight now for son, die for daughter

..

© edenbraytoday01.03.2021

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JENNY IN HIGH HEELS .. .

jenny in heels 1

.   .   .

JENNY IN HIGH HEELS

.   .   .

She trips by me
a hazel gem
finity of beauty
among good things
that dwell, softly, gently

Dark pupil, brown eye
a fawn pebble
tiny in her sincerity
deft is her dexterity
on stilts, as heels

Hers is speed
endeavour golden
bronzed ambition
rushing water
and mountain spray

Sweet notes
are heard of her
her construction
her legs design
tis’ sheer perfection

She pretty as
a summer sketch
eyes as crystal water
natures dancing elf
sweet Jenny Wren

                                                                                     © edenbraytoday26.02,2021

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EPIPHANY with CARL JUNG and A MERE RABBIT!

CARL JUNG

Epiphany with Carl Jung and a mere Rabbit

…  …   …

I sat beside that old and weary cherry tree

Gnarled and leaning like a drunken man

Put my sorry life into some sort of perspective

There is no gain in self condemnation only revival

.

I have rubbed my hands in the course dirt so long

I had learned to sense flowers buried in the shit

The crap, where horses do leap and look poetic

Like a women’s breast is charming, her skin so soft

.

I walked for miles without learning much at all

The only thing we learn is the best way to stay silent

I catch myself sometimes when I’m saying too much

The goddam illusion is broken and the rabbits out

.

I have to say things though just to stay alive

Otherwise might as well be dead in the dust

Cain’t all be Carl Jung, I know, I do pick on that fellar

And he does have a contented look, like pink salt

.

Therapy, if I could even afford it might be the answer

Or maybe just to get down on my sore, sorry knees

Say a prayer to God, whoever he or she may be

Wonder what he’d say about that? – Carl Jung!

.

                                                                         edenbraytoday20.02.2021

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4 and 20 – WERE YOU ALONE?

4 and 20 – Were You Alone?

4 and 20 – WERE YOU ALONE?

blackbird

4 and 20 – were you alone?
did you moan?
when they beat you with sticks
did it make you feel sick?

Did their dirty white faces
greedy and cold
did they hurt you a lot
when they broke your bones?

I hate the white man
almost as much as you did
when he murdered your child
when the bluecoats went wild

Massacred your brides
hate is hateful
why do people hate?
why do people behave like savages?

Genocide, Holocaust, Nuclear explosion
murder in your beds
napalm, cannon fire, beat the drum
gattling gun, bayonets fixed, run them in

Inhumanity is a devil word
and you were just one black bird
one beauty in the forest
with yellow beak and gentle ways

I made a friend of a blackbird once
she fed around my chair
she collected food for a clutch of three
a clutch of five, a clutch of five

Again she raised a clutch of three
then finally a clutch of seven!
that bird should now be in heaven
I loved that bird to watch her work

I loved the little native girl
the child brides of the indigenous American
the boys and girls in striped pyjamas
the families of the Vietnamese and Japanese

4 and 20, thousand, million, humbled
slaughtered, their daughters and their sons
murder most foul, we put them in the earth
left the dead to bury the dead

The scorched, bloody earth
where blackbirds fed
and carried food back to their nest
the warm nest and the loving home

© edenbraytoday19.02.2021

Posted in edenbray OPINION, edenbray POMES | 4 Comments

AFTERNOON NIP WITH THE BOSS .. .

Afternoon Nip With The Boss

I sat down with Hemmingway
bottle of pop
bottle of scotch
American rye

I wrote a balad, he tore it up
handed me
French wine
in an enamel cup

War leaves limbs hanging
that’s a metaphor
the clay mud clinging
wine is better from a tin cup

If there was a candle burning
I didn’t see it
I felt it though and
the rancid smell of hot wax

I found this rough, hewn tree stump
and a soldiers blood
melded with the mud
O’ honour isn’t brave

Regret is braver than a running horse
the coloured horse
I clambered on his war-torn back
braver was the thought (I now know)

I sat down in earnest
a widow’s dowry
a night out on the tiles
inspiration comes so slowly

I wrote my life in verse
it did not amount to much
reached out for St Jerome’s touch
held a Picasso favoured brush

Ellegy and allegory join the story
try to rob a soldier’s honest tale
injest a private’s morning glory
tantamount to grieving

Lifeblood and stirring passion
the partizan and the cause
her dark eyes
bodies left dead on the gauze

We talked until 3 twas
too dark to see clearly
my eyelids growing weary
so I dressed it up with butter

The lifeblood draining
looking for a morning star
and Hemmingway caught up
the afternoon had sworn

Mutiny in the French quarter
his fist clenched
he shouted at me
be a man, you klutz

The streets of shame
fights break out
in the early morning light
I’m tight like a street bum

The partizans are coming
real men with blood
and Hemmingway is shimmering
like gold covered in mud

Can’t write, don’t write
If you do make sure its you
not the devil’s daughter
not what does not matter

No matter what
what, does not matter!
only feelings make us human
only thoughts and life and feeling

© edenbraytoday 15.02.2021

Posted in edenbray APPRECIATION, edenbray POMES | Tagged | Leave a comment

I WANNA BE LOVED – Guest Poem

I Wanna Be Loved

HEYMAN GREEN – 1950

GUEST POEM

(Lyrics)

.

I wanna be loved with inspiration
I wanna be loved starting tonight
Instead of merely holding conversation
Hold me tight
I wanna be kissed until i tingle
I wanna be kissed starting tonight
Embrace until our heartbeats intermingle
Wrong or right
I feel like acting my age
I’m past the stage of merely turtledoving
(Be careful, be careful what you do)
I’m in no mood to resist
And i insist the world owes me a loving
I wanna be thrilled to desperation
I wanna be thrilled starting tonight
(Love me, love me, love me)
With every kind of wonderful sensation
I wanna be loved
I feel like acting my age
I’m past the stage of merely turtledoving
I’m in no mood to resist
And i insist the world owes me a loving
I wanna be thrilled to desperation
I wanna be thrilled starting tonight
With every kind of wonderful sensation
I wanna be loved
.
 

As a special treat for Valentines Day I am posting another in my Guest Poems Series. A 1950 song written by a Heyman Green for Dinah Washington. Great stuff! enjoy! – edenbray 14.02,2021

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LIGHTNIN’ STRIKE .. .

Lightnin’ Strike .. .

.

lightnin strike

decorating, above the cupboards on my wall I find my inspiration – paint streak – lightnin’ speak

..

Braver, we are not
    when words flash, draw our hurt
    I need to be alone
I was never ever reasonable
    not on a Tuesday
    or any day with a why in it
I reach for my bottle of amber glory
    wish that I still smoked
Turn to my sounds with no words
    watch those black birds out on the wire
    wait for this thunder to be over.

..

                                                                                 © edenbraytoday22.01.2020

Posted in edenbray POMES, edenbray THUMBNAILS | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

ALZHEIMER POET

ALZHEIMER POET

I’ve heard that thud before
    that thud on the floor
And then a dog barking so I forgot
  so many things to do
      but I haven’t really

Abstract thoughts line up
    like pegs in your mind
Hang out the washing
    mop the floor, what was that thing
        that dropped on the floor?

Hang on, I haven’t eaten 
    anything, wait 
I’m having one of those days
    I’ll take my pills, my life is
          filled with so many thrills

That dog is barking again
    Its no life when your kept in a pen
I’ll write about this later
    because it reminds me of me
          again, I am feeling all at sea

After the lunch break
    I’ll go for a walk
Out to the backwoods
    and I’ll hunt for that hawk
        he often comes to my aid

Back from those magical woods 
    Tall Scots pine and gorse
In Tuny’s field I saw the black horse
    I head through my hallway, always
        best way when nature calls

So there it sits on the mat
    been lying there all day
and I’ve been too busy to open it up
    my first book of poems, at last
        a first stroke of literary luck!

                                                © edenebraytoday15.01.2020

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JOSH THE STREET-SINGER !

‘Street Courage’

Robbie

I first saw him standing on a street corner

opposite the coffee shop

I heard him singing words I’d heard before

that made me stop

In my tracks and the hairs on my neck stood up 

‘Little boxes made out of ticky tacky’

that’s what I need to hear

Dropped a shilling in his cup

wished I could a’ bought him a beer

A cup of cheer for the singer on the corner

on a cold day in Boston town 

On a new years day with virus all around

a virus that’s brought the people down

..

So I bought some coffees

to take down to the park

Past the corner where he stood

before it gets too dark

The singer he was tuneful, played his guitar so well

A songbird in Boston singing songs

I hadn’t heard for years

These songs made perfect sense to me

songs to dispel your fears

So I spoke to the street singer

took his picture there and then

Said If I wrote some verses out

did he have a card where I could send?

..

Street singer plying his trade in all weathers

singing for coin out in the cold

On a damp winters day, the street singer

had something bright to say

Singing songs of life and meaning out in this circus

Of life and liberty that’s falling down

around our ankles around our knees

While we wrestle and we worry

over this goddamn disease

Just a moment Master Pessimist the candlemakers son

light a candle on the street

For this troubadour with a wood guitar

is still standing on his feet!

..

a bit of a ditty for my mate Josh Robins

 

edenbraytoday

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