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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WHEN I PAINT MY MASTERPIECE – Guest Poem/Lyrics

When I Paint My Masterpiece

WRITTEN BY: BOB DYLAN

GUEST POEM

(Lyrics)

Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble
Ancient footprints are everywhere
You can almost think that you’re seein’ double
On a cold, dark night on the Spanish Stairs
Got to hurry on back to my hotel room
Where I’ve got me a date with Botticelli’s niece
She promised that she’d be right there with me
When I paint my masterpiece

Oh, the hours I’ve spent inside the Coliseum
Dodging lions and wastin’ time
Oh, those mighty kings of the jungle, I could hardly stand to see ’em
Yes, it sure has been a long, hard climb
Train wheels runnin’ through the back of my memory
When I ran on the hilltop following a pack of wild geese
Someday, everything is gonna be smooth like a rhapsody
When I paint my masterpiece

Sailin’ round the world in a dirty gondola
Oh, to be back in the land of Coca-Cola!

I left Rome and landed in Brussels
On a plane ride so bumpy that I almost cried
Clergymen in uniform and young girls pullin’ muscles
Everyone was there to greet me when I stepped inside
Newspapermen eating candy
Had to be held down by big police
Someday, everything is gonna be diff’rent
When I paint my masterpiece

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NINETEEN .. .

NINETEEN .. .

.

Nineteen,

I started writing when I was nineteen but that’s a lie

The child became a man when he had learned to cry

If I was nineteen today I might just long to die

\.. .

Seventeen,

Sixteen, fourteen, my father broke my heart

Compulsion is not something your taught, he tore my heart apart

You learn to listen, you yearn to find your place, you learn to lie

\.. .

Fourteen,

Where are the fathers, off playing games?

Just being there is a duty, a boy becomes a man, a man becomes a rock

If I was fourteen today and my father went away?

\.. .

Fifteen,

I started writing when I was fifteen and that’s the truth

I met a man once called Alan, my truest, better self

A sturdy guy who wore a tie, he taught me all I know

.. .

edenbraytoday29.12.2020

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MODERN WORKS 2020 ~ 18 – TOO ENDLESSLY

A NEW PUBLICATION: FINAL CALL

Screenshot 2020-12-22 at 13.28.46

MODERN WORKS 2020 ~ 17 – POEM 16

To celebrate the launch of my NEW booklet containing 16 diverse poems and essays entitled : MODERN WORKS 2020 – I am happy to offer a signed, printed hard-copy and FREE worldwide delivery. All but one of these 16 pieces are BRAND NEW WORKS completed during 2020.

This latest collection of written verse – MODERN WORKS 2020 – comes in the usual edenbray-pamphlet A5 format and is printed professionally and beautifully in a 36 page booklet style publication with a cream-stock card cover that I have self-published to my own specifications.

I am able to offer my 2020 Annual of Verse at an opening price of just £7.00 inc. post and packing for shipping to literally anywhere in the world. So please use the PAYPAL Link below to make your purchase or you can contact us by leaving a message in the comments box at the foot of this page or please email me directly at:-stepheneede689@btinternet.com – I would sincerely appreciate hearing from you and we will make sure you get a copy of my new book/pamphlet and also keep you up to date with any developments regarding my work.  – (please indicate if you would rather NOT receive emails concerning my work when you order)

PAYPAL LINK – TO ORDER YOUR COPY OF – MODERN WORKS 2020

https://paypal.me/SeedProducts?locale.x=e

Many thanks ~ edenbray

 

Finally, to Celebrate the launch of my NEW BOOK I am posting all 16 poems over 16 consecutive days RIGHT HERE on my edenbray-BLOG-SITE B  – TODAY  – the Poem – TOO ENDLESSLY  : ~ 

.   .   .

MODERN WORKS 2020

by edenbray

.   .   .

 

TOO ENDLESSLY .. .

Hemmingway’s Folly

.

The rolling river knows and to this torture shows

From virtues sodden garments strewn

The bloodless captives body hewn

.

O endless river follow long, a plaintiff song

Where dreams will last forever

Our deepest friendships we sever

.

We cannot chide the moon its life is longer

Loves bite is stronger than the

Sentiment of shadows, wayward arrows

.

When we write our story down in verse

We suckle at life’s wet nurse

Who forces her to yield?

.

What bastard drone betide may step aside

Abandon loves purest reason

To fulfil the rutting stag in season

.

And nature charming like a sceptarian

Seven hands for seven throats

Seven lives, seven moats

.

And in this spun tale of summer gold,

I see within her folds, lust has wed

The serpents head, so angry and so red

.

The deed was done, of sumnal scum

O great Rome, she still speaks to the soul of man

Offers prayers to Zeus and gods of Roman story

.

O harlot tramp the hoary, not centre of our story

Some saints are set for glory

Shield me O’ phantom roaring

.

And in all this turgid mire she capitulates

Loves lovers lost beneath her virgin state

Loves moment born to virtue sworn

.

The specious dawn of fair Capricorn

O laugh to scorn the sanscript of her love forlorn

The lover bared capitulates to spawn

.

O holy fire that burns the chaff of lust in satan’s pyre

The wire of restraint within a maidens fire

For they burn inside the hole of hell

.

And Saint Adronedes astride the golden shire

Steps forth to shout at Surgun’s sun

Her fervour to espunge

.

Ho, regulateur the northern sun as cold as fire

Extends her holy, male-born spire

This Captain’s heart of swollen desire

.

In Capita’ de Espana a Bull’s testiculos

to determine the diminutive

The collective compulsive

.

We stop to observe the wonder of her gaze

The memory of Hemmingway’s ways

Too endlessly they disappear

.

edenbraytoday 30.11

  

 

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ZEALOTRY and ZEALOUSY .. .

ZEALOTRY and ZEALOUSY .. .

..

I lit the burning pyre in a moment of irrational desire

Yet when is desire rational, in a private mortuary fire

A book of pictures of young girls my Auntie Ursula bought

Five famous poems I wrote, a 1st journal of poetic thought

Of polaroids, a pile of photos of all the girls I had known

I attempted to annihilate all memory of the wild seed I had sown

and the flames licked the sky at my back garden trial

No one stood in the dock to question or ask the defendant why

The thin smoke curled up to heaven where the prophet Moses sat

Reciting lines from the tablet of stone he nursed upon his lap

I had made my adolescent history and all the evil that I did

It rose up now to heaven since I had lifted that burdened lid

But now I think and feel and touch and see those memories so real

Have fallen from the azure skies, tinder, sparks and ashes golden

My memories are what make me as I am and every lover beholden

Every kiss and every smile, every word that was ever spoken, in love

I adore my wife, my life and God himself despite the cleansing of my heart

Despite the origin of faith that offered me that brand new start, the ‘r’ word

Cathartic and true, its such a demon shoe, a hoof in the biblios of the absurd

That teaches people, mild of heart to erase their beginnings on the adult trail

As though all forages in life, losing hymen, passages of semen, should make us wail

Curdle our entrails and squander all our dreams, for religion is not the master

Never made us dafter than when we let our conscience steal our joy and laughter

Harsh price we do barter to find the honest truth when we sacrifice our learning steps

Climb cathedral steppes when all we have really learned about is love, amor remissus.

 

Forgiving Love

.. . edenbraytoday04.01.2020

 

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GUEST POEM ~ WHISKY IN A JAR .. .

Whiskey in a Jar

written by Jeremy Max Finer / Shane Patrick Lysaght Macgowan / Philip Chevron / James Thirkhill Fearnley / Darryl Gatwick Hunt / Andrew David Ranken / Peter Spider Stacey / Terry Woods

GUEST POEM

 
As I was a goin’ over the far famed Kerry mountains
I met with captain Farrell and his money he was counting
I first produced my pistol and I then produced my rapier
Saying “Stand and deliver” for he were a bold deceiver
Mush-a ring dumb-a do dumb-a da
Wack fall the daddy-o, wack fall the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar
I counted out his money and it made a pretty penny
I put it in me pocket and I took it home to Jenny
She sighed and she swore that she never would deceive me
But the devil take the women for they never can be easy
Mush-a ring dumb-a do dumb-a da
Wack fall the daddy-o, wack fall the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar
I went up to my chamber, all for to take a slumber
I dreamt of gold and jewels and for sure ‘t was no wonder
But Jenny blew me charges and she filled them up with water
Then sent for captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter
Mush-a ring dumb-a do dumb-a da
Wack fall the daddy-o, wack fall the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar
And ‘t was early in the morning, just before I rose to travel
Up comes a band of footmen and likewise captain Farrell
I first produced me pistol for she stole away me rapier
I couldn’t shoot the water, so a prisoner I was taken
Mush-a ring dumb-a do dumb-a da
Wack fall the daddy-o, wack fall the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar
There’s some take delight in the carriages a rolling
and others take delight in the hurling and the bowling
but I take delight in the juice of the barley
and courting pretty fair maids in the morning bright and early
Mush-a ring dumb-a do dumb-a da
Wack fall the daddy-o, wack fall the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar
And if anyone can aid me ‘t is my brother in the army
If I can find his station in Cork or in Killarney
And if he’ll go with me, we’ll go rovin’ through Killkenney
And I’m sure he’ll treat me better than my own a-sporting Jenny
Mush-a ring dumb-a do dumb-a da
Wack fall the daddy-o, wack fall the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar
 
 
 
I LOVE TO POST A VARIETY OF GUEST POEMS and SONG LYRICS FROM TIME TO TIME –
THESE GUEST POEMS ARE NOT MY  OWN WORK AND I MAKE NO FINANCIAL GAIN FROM POSTING THEME – EDENBRAY

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MODERN WORKS 2020 ~ 17 – PHIL LYNOTT WAS A POET

A NEW PUBLICATION:

MODERN WORKS 2020 ~ 17 – POEM 15

To celebrate the launch of my NEW booklet containing 16 diverse poems and essays entitled : MODERN WORKS 2020 – I am happy to offer a signed, printed hard-copy and FREE worldwide delivery. All but one of these 16 pieces are BRAND NEW WORKS completed during 2020.

This latest collection of written verse – MODERN WORKS 2020 – comes in the usual edenbray-pamphlet A5 format and is printed professionally and beautifully in a 36 page booklet style publication with a cream-stock card cover that I have self-published to my own specifications.

I am able to offer my 2020 Annual of Verse at an opening price of just £7.00 inc. post and packing for shipping to literally anywhere in the world. So please use the PAYPAL Link below to make your purchase or you can contact us by leaving a message in the comments box at the foot of this page or please email me directly at:-stepheneede689@btinternet.com – I would sincerely appreciate hearing from you and we will make sure you get a copy of my new book/pamphlet and also keep you up to date with any developments regarding my work.  – (please indicate if you would rather NOT receive emails concerning my work when you order)

PAYPAL LINK – TO ORDER YOUR COPY OF – MODERN WORKS 2020

https://paypal.me/SeedProducts?locale.x=e

Many thanks ~ edenbray

Finally, to Celebrate the launch of my NEW BOOK I am posting all 16 poems over 16 consecutive days RIGHT HERE on my edenbray-BLOG-SITE B  – TODAY  – the Poem – PHIL LYNOTT WAS A POET  : ~ 

.   .   .

MODERN WORKS 2020

by edenbray

.   .   .

PHIL LYNOTT WAS A POET .. .

.   .   .

The wide, the woven, the smell of fear

Easier to hide than make a stand

Form a band, cover yourself in glory

Write your own story, nights of fury

.

Intelligence is weary, culture vulture

Under the lights of night your face black

Your heritage an echo, a Gaelic refrain

Up on the stage of fame, spike the stain

.

Carry me home, wander free, a family

Stand out under the stars naked, your

electric harp, with the boys of harmony

Bringing it home, not when you’re alone

.

Pass the skit, the rush, the hit, atonement

Write it down in your mothers scrapbook

Looking for the mass ascension, Johnny boy

Collecting friends along the way, adjacent

.

Musha ring dum a do, whack for my daddy-o

The jar is left, shake the tree, where did daddy go?

Fender Jazz, Precision, give it to sad clowns of derision

Learned to star, scar the stage, no boot stud indecision

.

Fame train carries a barb, a wye switch derailer

Home mommy’s kid, not greedie tin’ bitch syringe

Leather clad, punk sad, ride the ferris wheel ..

Get off the track, gentle guitar man, Lynott you are a poet

..

              

                                                                                        edenbraytoday 30.11

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MODERN WORKS 2020 ~ 16 – IT’S A BAILEY – SANDALS

A NEW PUBLICATION:

MODERN WORKS 2020 ~ 16 – POEM 14

To celebrate the launch of my NEW booklet containing 16 diverse poems and essays entitled : MODERN WORKS 2020 – I am happy to offer a signed, printed hard-copy and FREE worldwide delivery. All but one of these 16 pieces are BRAND NEW WORKS completed during 2020.

This latest collection of written verse – MODERN WORKS 2020 – comes in the usual edenbray-pamphlet A5 format and is printed professionally and beautifully in a 36 page booklet style publication with a cream-stock card cover that I have self-published to my own specifications.

I am able to offer my 2020 Annual of Verse at an opening price of just £7.00 inc. post and packing for shipping to literally anywhere in the world. So please use the PAYPAL Link below to make your purchase or you can contact us by leaving a message in the comments box at the foot of this page or please email me directly at:-stepheneede689@btinternet.com – I would sincerely appreciate hearing from you and we will make sure you get a copy of my new book/pamphlet and also keep you up to date with any developments regarding my work.  – (please indicate if you would rather NOT receive emails concerning my work when you order)

PAYPAL LINK – TO ORDER YOUR COPY OF – MODERN WORKS 2020

https://paypal.me/SeedProducts?locale.x=e

Many thanks ~ edenbray

Finally, to Celebrate the launch of my NEW BOOK I am posting all 16 poems over 16 consecutive days RIGHT HERE on my edenbray-BLOG-SITE B  – TODAY  – the Poem – IT’S A BAILEY – SANDALS: ~ 

.   .   .

MODERN WORKS 2020

by edenbray

.   .   .

its a bailey .. . using no traditional punctuation sandals

.. . and while we are on the subject of mothers  did i mention that my mum  mammy  mater  mother  mummy  was the best ever    for children growing up in the fifties  the mother father parental pairing was  still the accepted norm within pretty much the whole of western culture    in british society the mothers matriarchal position was still paramount    as a child i was never aware of any overt sexism    we just accepted the roles our parents played as distinct  not necessarily superior or inferior    in these  stripped down  personal memoirs  it is not my purpose to comment on modern gender politics but simply to tell things as i found them    i have some early memories  as an under 5  that some find surprising    for instance i can clearly remember our next door neighbour  mrs iffel   talking baby mumbo jumbo to me while i lay in my pram and also the softness of my blankets    i can also remember queuing with my mother outside a hall behind our local swimming baths one cold day in sunshine    once inside  my mother collected two flat medicine style bottles with corks  containing natural squeezed orange juice and a jar of virol  malt extract that were  supplied free of charge using  ration books  until they were terminated in July 1954    that fact alone places my recollection and my age at under 3 years    one memory i do not recall however  that concerned my mother  she would often retell  as it had made her feel guilty    one day she had left me in my pram outside the local greengrocers and  walked nearly 2 miles home before realising she had left me behind    unsurprisingly she had panicked and hastily returned to find me sleeping soundly in my pram on a lazy summers day in the surrey village where we lived  ◉  i never blamed my mother and grew kind of proud of her confession    ironically life gave her the opportunity to balance up that spot of negligence  a few years later at almost the very same spot where she had left me sleeping in my pram     she had been shopping in boots the chemists  the shop adjacent to the greengrocers where my mother had left me 7 years previously    i was returning from primary school early one evening at age 8 years  as children did in 1959    on the day in question i had chosen to walk with 2 friends through the woods    i would leave them at the corner of the village and journey on alone through the park to our home    as we reached the place where we normally parted we found a large number of trees had been felled quite recently  chopped up and burnt in a large fire that measured around 30 feet in circumference    the bonfire seemed burnt out and dormant  although it had left a huge circle of white ash    there were no barriers or warning signs    i suppose i was showing off as i rushed into the  circle of dusty cinders sending a shower of silver flakes up into the hot  sunny  afternoon haze    my friends laughed at my bravado    i rushed past the cold extremities of the fire toward the neucleus suddenly aware that my feet were strangely warming    i arrested my crazy dash on reaching the centre of the bonfires residue   anguished   as i was aware of intense sparks of heat penetrating the cut holes in my children’s buckled sandals    i glanced down in horror at my sandalled feet now nestling deep inside the silver piecrust exterior and encased by angry red and orange coals of fire    small blue and silver flames licked at my white ankle socks    inevitably i screamed and ran for the safety of the woodland floor    i was sobbing with the shock of my personal misfortune and painful burns while my friends offered  kids kind of palliative advice  stressing I should get home fast while also berating me for my foolish antics    easy to be wise after the event guys    my sobbing continued as i limped painfully in the general direction of our home deciding to take an impromptu route through the village    i was scared and had no wish to be alone so i limped painfully up the road toward where the road met the high street ◉  the junction corner was where boots the chemist was situated    at this moment my mother exited boots the chemist as if on cue    with her purchases completed she planned to walk home    she stated later that she had been suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to turn left out the store and proceed down the adjacent road towards the park    she could not explain her actions  as she never used that road and it took the opposite direction to home    yet she proceeded down the road and recognising the sound of a child crying  she hurried to help    miraculously she was confronted by her own  distressed son    it was a remarkable and unforgettable mother son moment we often spoke of 

 

                                .. . its a bailey .. . 4 december 2020 .. . edenbraytoday

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LONG WALK OUT THE BACK

The blade that cuts the earth, turns bloody sod round by David’s place where lives a hare

and a pair of roe dear chasing showed up, white tailed in the evening light

The blue tractor done its rounds, left huge, wetted clods, gulls and a ghost flying nightly

it is a friendly sight as the dew begins to settle on the ghost, two dogs prone to baying

Farmer Stanley owns the tractor, attends to the steep bank himself where I find things

broken stones, hawk feathers, after a fox one time a cygnets bones and myself

©edenbraytoday02.01.2021

Posted in edenbray ANIMALS & BEASTS, edenbray POMES, TALES of the SWAN-DYKE | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment