EDENBRAY in EXILE – 8 – red moon

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …


… … …


I whispered sweet words to the moon

and the sun glowered red and full of envy

I walked on top of walls, humming forgotten tunes

I had learned when I was young

I craved for ice cream, bought picture postcards

and ran splashing in sand puddles

My oldest thought was ‘Damn, is this day dying

and it has only just begun?’

‘I must remember to get up early in the morning

and make friends again with that coldest sun’

Melon, aspic and iced water – I made the mistake

of staring back at that old rubber balloon

Bouncing around in the mirror of winter’s cobalt sky

so high, so blushed, so easy on the eye

My sweet Alexandra, Dianthe, Helene, sirens three

maiden companions waiting open to the sea

 They escort the swells and their assault upon star-

carved lovers – letters in their black ebony souls

The soft, wooly hearth of my true loves heart

so open, raw, o’-red, nestled in our future bed

We just orphans of this love-lost earth now bridled

by our common lust, inflamed and swollen

Nature’s guardians of our future fate with words

we wrote together in the face of shame

Forgetful of the sadness, anguish, travail

that lovers learn and wear so bravely

Yet we surely the pierced ears bloody of our

current flag, our romance, passions sorbet

Yes, we do not forget our wanton dancing

nor how to laugh symbolic, poetic, carnal, free

I now a lovers master where Seville oranges,

champagne, sheets fragrant and cotton down

Do tend a narrow garden, wipe out your sorry pain

and the wind gusting covers this captains frown







This rivals the song of Solomon! And echoes the book of Ecclesiastes. Youth worn and beheld like an old penny in a lost pocket. I love the use if all five senses and the feeling of walking alone and remembering. – Jessica Renea 19.09.2012

#Authors Note ~ The Red Moon is a Celebration of Life, Freedom and Pleasure – It originally seemed to me, when considering whether it should be included in my latest Retrospective Anthology, somewhat incongruous to re-post such a liberal expression of fun-filled, romantic freedom at a particularly restrictive and sad time in our currently virus-affected and constrained lives but then, as always, I rallied and decided nevertheless we need to be reminded of our ‘normal’ lives before we forget what they were and also to honour those sick and dying who today would remember, if they could, with fondness such times of joy-filled freedom. We would dishonour them if we did not at least remember happier days that we hopefully shall all see again. Please read, enjoy and if you did – then leave a ‘like’ for me below.                                                                       Thanks ~ edenbraytoday

‘Joie de Vivre’ 

 I made the mistake

of staring back at that old rubber balloon

Bouncing around in the mirror of winter’s cobalt sky



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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 7 – the hringhorni

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

The Hringhorni


I missed the holocaust but not too late for Al Qaeda’s fate

The misery of the human condition travels on a broken wing

A grey-brown sparrow fluttering briefly to avoid cats palm

Rescued from its pain by the skill of a bloodied hawks jaw

Two brothers slept that night on a straw palias or a minks pelt

Father John heard the tail of one whilst t’other lay with a counts virgin

The story so full of deceit that the iron priest blushed blood

And was said to stay up half the night, wrestling the angel

The soldier wearied, covered his eyes, his earliest friend fallen

He counted his loyalty and weighed it golden in the balances

If justice had any remorse they would still journey on together

Have eaten at the table of life, imbibed Lancelot’s promise and fury

The bears duty, two cubs washed in milk saw the avalanche approaching

The smaller watched the mountain leaning, neither borrowed expectations

Grisly and grey he now writes natures tales so earnest and sorry 

The larger, buried in the August snow n’er tasted nectar with a honey paw 

‘Similitude’ – the dancers pale dress so faint and brief holds a soft breast

They rise and fall, the troubadour a gallant Danseur, he dressed only in awe and esteem

Who lifts her like lilies on a flowered bough where only death they may greet so cold

The comparison of beauty is a silver mirror where pass the Hringhorni triumphal



#Authors Note – This one is a puzzle and no mistake – I have always been interested in Norsk mythology and of course ‘The HRINGHORNI’ – ‘the greatest of all ships’ was the name given to the funeral ship of Baldr – the god of light, joy, purity, and the summer sun in Norse mythology, and a son of the god Odin and the goddess Frigg. He is the father of Forseti, and he has numerous brothers, such as Thor and Váli. 

This ship carries a tale or two within its ancient beams – as does this fairly challenging piece I wrote in 2012 – a veritable fusion of spiritual symbolism, heroic mythology alongside purest human sentiment and the rawest emotion. I have included it in this my latest Anthology for those very same varied reasons and because I love that it explores myth, fact, history, reality and death.

As my literary counsel and most penetrating critic – Jessica Renea – once wrote of it at the time that it was originally published – ‘Interesting draw between the ship of the god and the seaside funeral for bin laden. As well your words are almost a celebration of the orgasmic release death gives us all.’

Death is certainly most uppermost in our minds right now as the death-toll includes so many respected and elderly members of both local and Global-communities and societies reaching unprecedented and unholy numbers, due to the unrelenting horror of the Covid-19 pandemic.

May our honoured dead be carried to Valhalla upon this Ancient Vessel and take their rest in peace.



‘With deepest respect and sympathy for those who now must mourn’

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 6 – hydrate

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays


      hydrate . . .
















… … …



#Authors Note :-  Something a little different today – this piece is definitely from my Prog-prose portfolio – A poem of one-word lines that I wrote 8 years ago but which somehow seems to fit in to today’s scenario as much as it did then and if anything is even more relevant due to the enormous problems we face currently.

I try not to slip into endless or repetitious jargon about or around COVID-19 but you can’t run away from it. The truth is, the world has to wake up! – Today it is sick and humankind has to learn to be healthier and to challenge those who aren’t and who invite potentially unhealthy, lethal or evil  (depending on your viewpoint) germs or viruses into ‘our’ Global village! 

This piece for me challenges humankind perfectly and without judgement in all of those areas of concern and the issues that the current epidemic has thrown up in all our faces.

Be strong! – edenbraytoday 

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 5 – a black satin cloth

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …


Blake Patterson removed his glasses and placed them on the nightstand with a glass of water and his loose change and that note from Julie. He removed his clothing, one piece at a time, folding his trousers, hanging his shirt, binning his underclothes. A car passed in the street outside. There was that irreverent ‘fizz’ as the wheels cut the plane of the wet road, reminding Blake how damp was the night. He slipped between the cool, cotton sheets, stretching his limbs and feeling his body relax. His limbs ached from the long walk, his mind was still numb from the events of that evening. He had to think of better things…. He had to get up from the bed to place a black satin cloth over a gap in the drapes where light from the street was leaking straight into his eyes. He liked being naked for that brief moment standing in the half-streetlight, he needed to cool down. He adjusted the cloth to silence the light and then slipped back into those cool, soft, sheets. The day had been harsh and dramatic but now he was in his own time and space and to Blake that felt good. He lay still for a moment not wanting to think and then he slept, quietly, like a drunk on skid row….



#Authors Note ~ In this latest Anthology of my work, re-posted as a 2nd Retrospective for a new generation, I am hoping to include the broadest spectrum of styles, writing formats and genres from my back~catalogue.

From time to time I enjoy writing what you might regard as opening chapters, opening paragraphs or even 1st-page book intros – These are random and fictional excerpts from Poems, Essays and Books that have never actually been written. All are what you might term ‘hooks’. I also love catchy Newspaper Headlines and Chapter Titles.

A Black Satin Cloth would slip fairly neatly into the ‘Chapter Title’ genre. These pieces turn up from time to time in my portfolio and I treat them in various ways. Although kind of cliché, this is actually often perfectly intended. This particular piece is almost spoof-like as you could see it as a Scene-opener from a Leslie Neilson Comic-film screenplay or a scene from a Chevy Chase ‘Fletch-Movie’ comic caper. It is actually intended to introduce a much darker tale that maybe one day I will finish. 

This piece also attempts to pay its due respect to Classic Film Noir Movies and Gumshoe Classic Screenplays made famous by actors like Humphrey Bogart and writers like Raymond Chandler.

The writer hasn’t much storyline to work with in this piece which itself is intended as a further and final motivation. These ‘thumbnail’ sketches are offered almost by way of answers to written English Language tests, exam questions or just literary challenges to prove still the power of the written word to thrill and excite. Hope you get the thrill of it – If you do please leave me a like or a comment below. – thank you!edenbraytoday   

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 4 – the hibernian

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays


the HIBERNIAN ~ a wee poem






























#Authors Note – Pretty self explanatory but I will attempt a personal review. I have always enjoyed listening to regional or local accents and have often used the slang of varying dialects to add character and nuance to a written piece. Their unusual vowel sounds can sometimes add cadence and interesting rhyming potential.  

This piece is a cameo, an imagined thumbnail sketch of a young Irish ‘bhoy’ who has left his home and made the trip over the Irish sea on the ferry from his native and beloved Ireland to find work in this case in Edinburgh in Scotland as many young men did at times during the 19th and early in the 20th centuries in various parts of both England and Scotland.

Hibernian FC in Edinburgh began as a Social Club for Irish immigrants in the late 1800’s and this is all the necessary background needed to explain this homiletic to the life of this homesick and lonely young man I decided to write about ` whence I first a’heard that tale.

Perhaps eventually the bhoy and the young Lauren would summon up the courage to meet, court, tie the knot and raise a young family. I do hope they did and I hope ya’ love it too – If ya’ did – leave me a like now would ya? At the bottom of the page!


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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 3 – frank zappa & velvet underground

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …



Modern history writes in scribbles

lines, scrapes and sizzles!

bare feet, uncut hair and whistles

The booty boat

the slings, the stones, the gristle

with blackened eyes and the pretties

Sad children, burnt gears

and the dark, hollow holocaust of art

grey, plastic and spastic, spattered plaid



Frank Zappa




But I stepped out on a Tuesday morning

with four coins in my pocket,

soft plimsolls hugging me kindly

and my gut so clean and empty

Blinding sun! and I covered my eyes

but the song in my head was fizzing 




Velvet Underground & Nico with Andy Warhol


The drugs turned nasty, the nature of the beast

Genghis Khan’s body lies in the dust like my mother

and we all still have ‘fifteen minutes in the sun’

Bella Napoli a Striano, Castriano, Donnie Darko

but now no one wants to be famous anymore

just everyone wants to be rich

St John the evangelist wrote it down in Patmos

Saw the four beasts and the shimmering rainbow

Spoke to the angel but then hushed his mouth

and this delicate future so fashioned by human tragedy

this burnt, glistening gold dusted by leaves and shit

I rubbed my eyes and saw a pale horse riding

A bronzed horn, a maidens promise, a young mans hand

I’m happy to nestle on my knees for when you are well

or when you are ill it is the best place to be 




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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 2 – izon

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …



(here in the boxcar)


. . . ” .

He only saw white, wishing more they had taken time

Bartholow’s Stand, the small brow of a hill, remote but lonely

Crashing waves always remind us of eternity, or death

. > . . .

Death is never lonely, only coldness, only the west side of Aga Hill

Or that feeling when you see ribbons streaming from mornings mountain

I could have hid my eyes, wrestling with loves pang and regret

. . ; . .

and that never might be the question

but you carry a torch to see where your going, not where you have been

looking back never requires vision, only white-walled tyres and some hooch

. < . . .

I whispered my inhibitions so many the times

If I thought it would release me, the priests window?

If I carried enough tallow or chickens eggs for a supper?

 . / . . .

The evening train, packed as usual, makes hardly a sound

drifting through, drifting and I catch sight of daisies in the sun

me and stencilled cases rough, knotted, full of brown bottles

here in the boxcar

. .   . . [

0′ Marianne I never told you and it hurts

we’re always passing through spaces like warm blood in veins

or like clouds swept by rain and memory, they are so cold with ice

] . .   . .

You haunt me so I don’t want ever to sleep

Lest’ I miss you when your spirit passes in the hallway

or we meet out in the street in that dream where I’m falling

. . . = .

I still carry a blunted pencil, a torn, printed flyer with notes

they are the ones where I wrote – I love you and then rubbed it out

that message bites the more against a hollow chest

. . .  ` .

So many things hidden and then a small grey bird

a phone ringing, a dream full of stagnant water closing

and Marianne, honest, happy and standing

here in the boxcar

. . . . :





#Authors note ~ the difference with this Anthology is that I am making what some would say is an honest but fatal mistake. By leaving an individual postscript like this to each piece I am kind of setting myself up for a fall, in that the absence of comment usually allows a creative distance between thought and word and imagination. A sort of suspension of belief akin to an avant-garde Movie. – Truly, not everything needs to be or indeed can be explained.

This piece I wrote at a very different time, almost exactly 7 years ago which is kind of rhythmic symbolism in itself as 7 is to me the perfect number and it could also be described as Dada-esque – hence the abstract frontispiece illustration which I really adore by the way.

It is kind of ‘disconnected’, definitely abstract and enters the arena alongside my many attempts at what I believe may be termed – Jazz Poetry or alternatively ~ my classification – Prog-Prose. With the way things are right now in the world – I love that it’s ‘disconnected’ and runs like a kid’s push-along wooden train – on its own Jazz-tracks – ‘here in the boxcar’.

It’s also sad romanticism, so it gives you a ‘shot’ of two worlds – abstract and new romantics maybe, baby?! Yes, it’s like a double shot of tequila Margherita – it hits you right between the eyes, knocks you sideways and into a different perspective. I for one need that right now and that is why I have selected it as my No.2/50 for this my 2nd Retrospective. – I really hope you dig it fellow beatnik! – Leave me a like and I will love you forever ~ ebtoday

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 1 – love is blue

Author’s Introduction To: ~

‘Edenbray in Exile’ ~ A Retrospective

An Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

Written June 2012 ~ ongoing.

After the comparative success of my 1st Edenbray Retrospective of Poetry, Articles and Essays that was published on this, my newer Edenbray site at the turn of this year – between dates – November 6, 2019 and January 17, 2020 I promised that later this year I would re-publish a 2nd Edenbray Anthology of my work in common with the previous Retrospective’s aims – namely in purpose to act as an Introduction to my Writing for a whole new generation. 

Due to the Coronavirus Pandemic which is absorbing so much of our creative thought right now and regrettably controlling my ‘flow’ and ability to write fresh and alive new works, unburdened by concerns over the epidemic I have decided to bring forward the moment for post/publishing this 2nd Retrospective Anthology of Edenbray Poems, Articles and Essays.

In my 1st Edenbray Retrospective I chose to re-post and publish a varied assortment of poems and essays written at different times over many years, some originally published as far back as the 1970’s but previously posted on my original Edenbray Site consecutively between December 2010 and June 2012.

 EDENBRAY >>> https://edenbray.wordpress.com/

I re-published these pieces pretty much in the same order that they 1st appeared with maybe a couple of exceptions but for this 2nd Anthology I have decided to ‘select’ a body of work rather than re-publish every single piece willy-nilly. Hopefully, this will enable me to improve the popularity of the site, hold a closer control on the body of work and establish a greater continuity.

I shall open this 2nd Retrospective Anthology of Edenbray’s Work with a lighter, happy piece to balance the sadness of the times we are currently living through.


love is blue …


Scanned Document

We held hands as though we could not let each other fly

the silver sand glistened, the oh so sun, mad like fever

it was years since I had felt such tortured emotion

maybe a boy, maybe a young dancer on her toes

I had been sleeping, dreaming, caught in a salmon net

the plush, lush attendant stream rushing on sweet n’ chilli

brown and greenie, full a’ windswept moments when

I had kissed a speck of food away from her blushing cheek

Harrowing as was enduring the torture of her shaming jest

I got above the stammer of purple-flowers, petals strewn and ‘okward

I made a George mailed fist and took the wee dragon halfway down

still day had turned t’night before I could think on forgiving her face

Meanwhile Marmaduke, a busy feline, wandered through our door 

caused a marmalade confusion which separated my mind

such the value of the kingdom of nature, not all at once

where eagles bronze or russet deer splash wonder on our pallet

Love on the other hand, a frightened bird, a statesman’s promise

not one, or neither but both – wrapped in ermine, fur and lace

cherished like a tailors scissor, buffed, rubbed hard, honed

not lonely in the garden, an unused can, a vow broken, a statue



#Author’s note ~ ‘Love is blue’ – is in fact, a love poem written – 12.09.2013 – I don’t write many of these. Don’t get too excited – ‘Love is blue’ – like the sky on a spring morning – fresh, transparent, full of sun and hope! This piece attempts to address that feeling of 1st love infatuation. Giddy love, where you lose your ‘oldness’, your inhibitions and your reservations in favour of a youthful silliness, which is entirely ‘contagious’ and engaging in the friendliest way. You’ve put your love-shades on and you feel ‘alive’.

It also touches on that more uncomfortable and painful part of love which can be scary – ‘okward’. There are several pain-filled references we might find fairly topical and current within our vocabulary right now – fever, tortured emotion, harrowing, torture – again, a statesman’s promise is kind of pertinent also. In this way it makes a nice antidote to how things are at present and reminds us what ‘normal’ life is usually like if ‘being in love’ can be termed ‘normal’. There are also a fair few cracking lines  – ‘I had been sleeping, dreaming, caught in a salmon net’ and ‘Love on the other hand, a frightened bird, a statesman’s promise’ to mention just two. The pic. is of my wife when she was 18 and we were ”giddy’ lovers. Really hope you ‘love’ it. – eb

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… … …

Hold hard the grey coated sentinel

Who draws his breath upon faint hope

Of prussian nights and eternal lights

The sentinel knows his task is certain, pure

To ride the faithful stallion named ‘Endure’


To ride through mud and human gore

Around the coast of Britains shore

Through valleys decked blood-red golden

Summer sun bids summer days to lengthen

And face this morbid terror with burnished fist


Faces of morning joy emerge as though through mist

Children of a new day born through trial & risk

Birth, tempered now by no techno-squalid season

Our commanders, priests & thinkers meet to reason

Count the cost, pray the night, face another day of loss


This horse, this horse by whose fetlock, hock & hoof

Has stretched each sinew, elbow, flank & cannon

Born its worthy rider forth to carry unfurled banner

Thru streets, the alleys & the moors and on beside the Manor

While proles consort with trolls to cause a minor stammer


Thus people – do step forward then, to a one, without tremor

This sentinel so adored, while brass coffin handles glimmer

Memories so burned, so broken by the wounded page of time

Some feel more than a brother, some drink more then of wine

The object then of war is lost in laughter’s pain, winters frost


The mountain birds surround the evening dell, a private hell

To them unfurls, unfolds to these masters of the carrion well

Death always is the final wave to those we love or try to save

Regret, sadness, a feathered cowel for each the bravest brave

I salute you, I adore you in your weakest momento mio amico!


Button your tunic then O’tired counsellor, leader of our clan

You rode as well as any could & more perhaps than any should

Dismount your steed, attest the greed yet call only heroes fore

To set in tribute store this army to whom we can add no more

The brave, the true, the sure of heart & foot, dressed in blue!




this picture says it all!m
The brave, the true, the sure of heart & foot, dressed in blue!

#Authors Note – I have tried to write it all down in poetic prose – kind of an open journal of my scrambled, jumbled thoughts, hopes, prayers and honest observations. – This our current history – so fresh and now a puss-riddled, infected, open wound, so sore to touch and hugely contagious – rife! An embittered, venomous snake and yet still an invisible, silent foe. A conniving, insidious monster – to which we currently have no other response than to hide, skulk, dismantle our life patterns and almost the very infrastructure of our national history and our future.

Into January, 2020, this year, I will be frank, like many of us, I am not sure I had even heard of the title – Coronavirus, much less Corvid-19 or Wu-tang, Hubei Province, social distancing or of any one of the many terms and appreciation of our bronchial biology that I seem to know as if I had studied for it at one of the great seats of learning in this our nation that currently lies, eunoched and buried under the duvet, one eye scanning with suspicion any visitor, guest, relative or friend. Even Bamber Gascoigne would be turned away today from his Alma Mater as a potential harbinger and spreader of this evil bug.

The premise of this piece is that we will triumph, normal life will return to this our fairest Isle and although we will be the saddened, chastened, thankful and heroic people poetic romanticists like edenbray, like me and myself always believe us to be.

Let me introduce you then, to the sentinel – our own heroic version of an invisible warrior and a commander. A captain – he rides on an Arabian stallion, he is brave, stirring and true. He might be an archangel like Michael or a puritan and a soldier like Cromwell, a politician and leader like Hugh Gaitskill, Winston Churchill, Nyree Bevan or a preacher, bold and pure as a Charles Wesley, John Knox or Charles Sturgeon. Whoever he is, represents or reminds us of – he came to us at the right time – Pray then the Lord of Hosts He might send us a sentinel right now – for right now we need him!

edenbray ~ 24.03.2020


… … …

2nd March, 2020

Today I have decided to update this poster design I completed 50 years ago by adding some text relevant to the current situation.. . the unknown soldier .. . this was an early pastel sketch I completed for a poster back in the early 70’s. It was an idea inspired by a Doors song title of the same name .. . I always felt this image was kind of powerful, kind of haunting — We are at war with a deadly and invisible enemy and the weapons of our warfare are completely peaceful but used effectively WILL defeat our enemy Coronavirus … edenbraytoday




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… …

And who tore the woman’s dress?

Or spoke to the heart of the bonnie gee?

Who glistened like a sap rose drenchéd?

Now that the nights wind hath abated

… …

Where fury settles ~ a gyr falcon

Cold as meat on a granite slab

the singers heart laid out in moments

warm half-notes rising, falling

… …

She sang to me so sweetly

Threw Jackson paint on my ambitions

Rolled paper joints full a’ musto

O Amy tis a shame about the fame

… …

You lit the a-dangerous firework

You didn’t stand alone though

Did not let your baby-love grow

Out the back of a fetid trash-truck 

… …

When I caught the blue fever

You were still dancing round the flames

Your hand on the rusty lever

And no one else to blame 

… …

Your beauty to me was so startling

Born of a yellow sun-flower golden

Travelling saloon worlds in red-healed shoes 

To become the lady who sings the blues

… …

Back to black n’lost in Hackensack

Ho’ lady, walkin’ round the town 

Voice as smooth as corn n’crack

On ha’ way down south ta’ N’Arleens

… …

And she could have been that queen

Whose lustre worn in clusters

Draped round her goddam’ midriff

The many hopes she mustered

… …

You feel there’s always people

Whose courage could embolden

Pockets fit to burst an’ swollen

Yet who n’are is carried by the moment?

… …

To watch and wait, not clean the slate

Or tell the girl her awe-filled fate

She so damn perty in her jeans

She so sexy in her blood-red skirt

… …

And all the while them dark angels

Dressed in black they gather at her back

To sing her deepest harmonies

O Amy Amy Amy, O Amy Amy Ameee!





Authors Note – I wonder at my own wisdom – to stick this piece that I have been working on for some while, out there – today of all days – while the world rages with Coronavirus whether imagined or real and people cancel this and postpone that – but if we do not live our lives to the fullest each day while not endangering any other life, then surely we disrespect all those who have already died and who fought to live or even survive in any age, or through any war, or within any regime or culture – Our creativity helps to keep us believing, it keeps us aspiring to greatness and to the hard work of attaining excellence.

Young Amy Winehouse maybe was a flawed personality but by no more or less than any one of us, except you might say that as a celebrity she lived her life under the spotlight of prying and intrusive eyes and for this may therefore have carried more ‘privilege’ and responsibility but I don’t know about that. As I understand it and I did not know Amy, she was a master of her craft but maybe not in the area of control. I am certainly no judge, no jury – for me I would say she was just ‘excellent’ and today or any other day that is quite simply – enough!

~ I hope you enjoy my honest tribute to a sensational singer, character and personality who died before her 28th birthday. It is a pity she did not live but then again who does? Amy should have – 15.03.2020



Dedicated to all those people who have sadly lost their lives due to the coronavirus outbreak.

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