#edenbray

WHITE POST – TWO

Posted on November 16, 2018 by edenbray

White Post – Two

white post 2

..

I’m on my way to the white post again

The white post calling me since I was six?

I follow the dog who is pulling the hardest

I always get to the white post the fastest

..

Down on the farm some chickens are feeding

But which way do you run when you are bleeding?

Or when the white post calls & you are caught speeding

Follow the white post over the brow of the hill

..

The white post strong always stands firm, long & still

At the edge of an urban field earth-brown & muddy

Or by the golden sea waving tall in mid-term breezes

The pangs of summer roll on when the sea-river freezes

..

We want you back to stare at the stargazers tribute

Flying high in a sunburst sky of orange and lemon haze

I caught sight of Gagarin’s sputnik once for several days

The young Aldrin stepped on the moon in its 1st phase

..

Which way now my love as we stare at the moon above?

Which way to the white post, which way is it leaning?

Which way past the golden fields, in the sun, gleaming?

Past the peasant women in the darkest fields gleaning

..

I heard muffled voices and I noticed their dress, shabby

In muted colours, not a hint of thigh, arm or breast

These women are the patriarchs married all to sailors

Who battle the seas & return to their mothers’ heartfelt pleas

..

The white post sees them, it’s the marker from Spring to fall

Where the tide turns, where the white line and the white birds call

Travel on then my beauty you don’t need to fear

The white post is still there, its got it all sussed …

..

writtenbyedenbray16.11.2018

Posted in edenbray POMES | Tagged BIOGRAPHY, DEATH, FEELING, HOPES, LIFEFORCE, LOVE, MELANCHOLY, ROMANTIC, SADNESS, WAR | Leave a comment

BATHSHEBA’S PROMISE

Posted on November 10, 2018 by edenbray

Bathsheba’s Promise

BATHSHEBA

.

O’ tumbled then the fairest whiskey both an’ the flowered wreath in Crispin’s wake

Who lit a flame and carried bower o’er’ morning dew whoever slew the fatted ox

Or caught the sun it’s nestled slew which drew an auburn haze ablaze at set of sun

The fairest wench I ever saw dressed with flowing hair and velvet skirts replete

Whose smile and pretty eyes in no wise disguise the frailty of her ficklest gaze

That meets the dawn of each and every mornings days wherein we run our race

With part hope, part fear, afraid to look even for some earnest cheer or praise or promise

Bathsheba knows and always follows at a distance decked with grace of a certain kind

Written, woven, carved into her face and set, if not in stone, then with cautions steed

Who runs at speed while Bathsheba sits aside the saddle dedicate and delicate

Not knowledge, or esteem, or wonder, or gratitude, or lovelorn duty or respect

While we watch the ancient clock engulf the curr and write a name of pedigree

We, who were born to handle and cure the strangest, strongest meats yet hover now

Over death-defying feats, at least complete and safe in the knowledge of deceit

Good grace that welcomes charm is but lost on Sheba’s less than noble arm and hollow

Of all these vestment balms she has but negligible qualms in dressing up to thrill

For Bathsheba is her only gauge and ambivalent to the rage that clatters around her head

In this arena, if nothing more be said, it is that she who has led a least extraordinary life

That flickers, … , brightens, fades, warms to a lighthouse blaze, still glistens off-shore tidy.

.

writtenbyedenbray10.11.2018

Posted in edenbray POMES | Tagged AN UNCONCIOUS, SIREN | Leave a comment

WALK WITH ME A LITTLE WAY

Posted on November 8, 2018 by edenbray

.

Walk With Me A Little Way

Seals_Blakeney

..

Let’s not talk about our saddest stories

Let’s not spoil this moment we have shared

With darkened tales of pain and sorrow

With cold memories of what we’ve endured

Let’s not taint what has grown between us

Let’s not sully, poison, change the view

Nor muddy waters so clear and clean

With tales of what should not have been

.

We only travel with each other part the way

And distant journeys keep us together

Just long enough, the fewest words to say

Then, let’s not discuss those saddest moments

And if I meet you at the wooded corner

Coming back from where you’ve been

Please don’t tell me of the darkness

In your life, that you may have seen

writtenbyedenbray08.11.2018

bay-of-islands-fur-seals

Posted in edenbray POMES | Tagged BIOGRAPHY, FEELING, LOVE, RECOLLECTIONS, SADNESS | Leave a comment

BOB DYLAN .. .

Posted on December 29, 2017 by edenbray

Bob Dylan

BOB

.

“Bob Dylan”, he said. “You musta’ heard a’ him.”

“Sure, I heard a’ him. He sings songs done’ he?”

The question in his voice kind of riled me. “A’ course he’s a singer, fool!”

I kinda’ liked Bob Dylan. He said things in a way I liked.

“Well, what of him anyways?”

“Bob Dylan said, ‘The times they are a’ changin’ and that is true now.”

“Come gather ’round people, Wherever you roam And admit that the waters, Around you have grown.” I couldn’t help my self from interjecting a little more substance to the conversation.

“Yes, that’s right, it’s an anti-war song I think.”

“Aha, yes I surely heard a’ that bastard song! Yes, I have.”

“Well, then you oughta know what he says later in that same song. ‘And don’t criticize what you can’t understand, Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command, your old road is rapidly agin’.”

“Yes, I heard that song, I surely did.”

Melvyn and Caleb would dis-cuss matters in this way quite frequently. I was used to these kinds of discussions, so I was not troubled too greatly by it.

“So then, don’t.”

“Don’t what? What am I supposed to have done anyhow?”

“Well now, I wonder?”

“Don’t criticize what you c ‘ain understand, fool!”

I didn’t like to say, ‘Don’t call no man a fool, in anger.”

.. .

writtenbyedenbray28.12.2017

.. .

https://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2016/10/bob-dylan-nobel-prize-blonde-on-blonde

Posted in edenbray POMES | Tagged ANTI_WAR, BOB DYLAN, NOBEL PRIZE, TIMES THEY ARE A CHANGIN' | Leave a comment

ITS A BAILEY

Posted on November 30, 2017 by edenbray

when I was eight years old in nineteen fifty-seven on a sunday morning with 2 way family favourites playing on the radio I came down late for breakfast which was a weetabix and I observed the actions of the family like joe browns song what a crazy world were living in ⚫️ dad was working in his shed mum was working in the kitchen brother was reading on the sofa ⚫️ i felt neglected abandoned alone ⚫️ properly alone probably for the first time in my life ⚫️ no one seems to notice me isnt it a sin what a crazy world were living in ⚫️ then it came to me i would have to leave home i was six years old ⚫️ i planned my exit and i was very apprehensive ⚫️ i had the coolest toy gun you have ever seen and i mean ever ⚫️ it was a retro luger pistol ⚫️ i also had the coolest leather casket type bag with a shoulder strap ⚫️ i would need to defend myself if i were attacked out there in the world so i put the cool pistol in the cool bag put the strap around my shoulder and headed off i made sure not to bang the side gate while leaving ⚫️ i felt bad for leaving home it had been a good life and i really loved my family but this rejection i felt threw serious doubts about their love for me ⚫️ i went out our front gate and turned right walking past the front of our house and turned right again into fieldsend road behind the tall hedge and i was gone ⚫️ i journeyed up the hill past fromondes road and turned left into tilehurst avenue and down the sharp incline to st dunstans bypass it was always a busy dual carriageway ⚫️ i looked both ways carefully and nervously and crossed two lanes to the small bollard island in the middle of the road opposite the wide swing gate to spillers field where there was a hawk that flew high in the twilight ⚫️ i was six years old ⚫️ i waited for the traffic to pass and crossed the remaining two lanes turning right and onto the pavement and past the two cottages set back on the far side ⚫️ two hundred yards and i could climb the few steps down into sears park and away from the noise of the traffic ⚫️ i was wearing a tee with denim jeans and black and white bumper shoes ⚫️ i always wore black and white bumper shoes with white laces ⚫️ sears park was one of many great parks in our area of around say six or seven acres ⚫️ i crossed the park diagonally passing the open pavilion where older boys and girls met and talked in groups ⚫️ i did not enter the pavilion because i did not like to see some of the words scrawled in marker on the walls although most messages were simple naive love talk or kilroy style drawings ⚫️ tom loves maddi cas fancies jimmy susie shagged richard that kind of thing ⚫️ i continued walking the remainder of the park which ran down the hill and past a wide bed of tree sheltered rose bushes and then i exited into the wooded path that ran for three hundred yards through to west sutton and the gander green lane shops ⚫️ on entering the path i was probably three quarters of a mile from home ⚫️ it was warm in the sun but coolish in the shade ⚫️ this path was known as boney hole ⚫️ it was called that as it goes because allegedly while digging down the lane workmen unearthed human remains namely a skeleton ⚫️ the legend was that someone had been murdered and buried down boney hole just next to the grammar school playing fields ⚫️ the story gripped my imagination and i wondered where the bones had been found as i walked down the cold enclosed path alone ⚫️ i was six years old ⚫️ at the far end was a barbed wire fence and an overgrown area which spread itself onto the path ⚫️ i exited the path into the warm sunshine to walk past a run of four or five shops i was most unfamiliar with ⚫️ i did not know why but the sight of these shops scared me even more than the boney hole had ⚫️ i thought i knew the way from here though through the back streets to sutton which was three miles maybe from where we lived ⚫️ i saw the red phone box and knew i should ring home ⚫️ i was still six years old and a long way from home ⚫️ i still had the luger pistol in my leather bag around my shoulder it made it difficult to enter the phone box as the door was on a firm spring ⚫️ i knew our phone number as well people recited their number when answering the phone in those days ⚫️ i had been told to lift the receiver and say clearly fairlands 4205 ⚫️ the phone box smelled musty and i had no money but i lifted the receiver and dialled the number and listened to the bleep bleep bleep ⚫️ my family must really be missing me and worried too ⚫️ i exited the phone box and retraced my steps ⚫️ past the shops down boney hole across sears park down to the falcon field over the carriageway up the hill to fieldsend road and then on down down down round the corner past the tall hedge and in through the front gate and the noisy side gate quietly in fear and trepidation ⚫️ dad was working in his garden mum was working in her kitchen brother was lying on the sofa ⚫️ what a crazy world were living in ⚫️ nothing was ever said no questions were ever asked even about the anonymous phone call on the day i decided to leave home ⚫️

writtenbyedenbray17.11.17

its a bailey … using no traditional punctuation

⚫️ ⚫️

TOY LUGER

Posted in baileys, edenbray MEMOIRS | Tagged gander green lane, its a bailey, luger pistol, memoirs, st dunstans hill | Leave a comment

ITS A BAILEY

Posted on November 17, 2017 by edenbray

when I was six years old in nineteen fifty-seven on a sunday morning with 2 way family favourites playing on the radio I came down late for breakfast which was a weetabix and I observed the actions of the family like joe browns what a crazy world were living in ⚫️ dad was working in his shed mum was working in the kitchen brother was reading on the sofa ⚫️ i felt neglected abandoned alone ⚫️ properly alone probably for the first time in my life ⚫️ no one seems to notice me isnt it a sin what a crazy world were living in ⚫️ then it came to me i would have to leave home i was six years old ⚫️ i planned my exit and i was very apprehensive ⚫️ i had the coolest toy gun you have ever seen and i mean ever ⚫️ it was a retro luger pistol ⚫️ i had the coolest leather casket type bag with a shoulder strap ⚫️ i would need to defend myself if i were attacked out there in the world so i put the cool pistol in the cool bag put the strap around my shoulder and headed off i made sure not to bang the side gate while leaving ⚫️ i felt bad for leaving home it had been a good life and i really loved my family but this rejection i felt threw serious doubts about their love for me ⚫️ i went out our front gate and turned right walking past the front of our house and turned right again into fieldsend road behind the tall hedge and i was gone ⚫️ i journeyed up the hill past fromondes road and turned left into tilehurst evenue and down the sharp incline to st dunstans bypass it was always a busy dual carriageway ⚫️ i looked both ways carefully and nervously and crossed two lanes to the small bollard island in the middle of the road opposite the wide swing gate to spillers field where there was a hawk that flew high in the twilight ⚫️ i was six years old ⚫️ i waited for the traffic to pass and crossed the remaining two lanes turning right and onto the pavement and past the few cottages set back on the far side ⚫️ two hundred yards and i could climb the few steps down into sears park and away from the noise of the traffic ⚫️ i was wearing a tee with denim jeans and black and white bumper shoes ⚫️ i always wore black and white bumper shoes with white laces ⚫️ sears park was one of many great parks in our area of around say six or seven acres ⚫️ i crossed the park diagonally passing the open pavilion where older boys and girls met and talked in groups ⚫️ i did not enter the pavilion because i did not like to see some of the words scrawled in marker on the walls although most messages were simple naive love talk or kilroy style drawings ⚫️ tom loves maddi cas fancies jimmy susie shagged richard that kind of thing ⚫️ i continued walking the remainder of the park which ran down the hill and past a wide bed of tree sheltered rose bushes and then i exited into the wooded path that ran for three hundred yards through to west sutton and the gander green lane shops ⚫️ on entering the path i was probably three quarters of a mile from home ⚫️ it was warm in the sun but coolish in the shade ⚫️ this path was known as boney hole ⚫️ it was called that as it goes because allegedly while digging down the lane workmen unearthed human remains namely a skeleton ⚫️ the legend was that someone had been murdered and buried down boney hole just next to the grammar school playing fields ⚫️ the story gripped my imagination and i wondered where the bones had been found as i walked down the cold enclosed path alone ⚫️ i was six years old ⚫️ at the far end was a barbed wire fence and an overgrown area which spread itself onto the path ⚫️ i exited the path into the warm sunshine to walk past a run of four or five shops i was most unfamiliar with ⚫️ i did not know why but the sight of these shops scared me even more than the boney hole had ⚫️ i thought i knew the way from here through the back streets to sutton which was three miles maybe from where we lived ⚫️ i saw the red phone box and knew i should ring home ⚫️ i was still six years old and a long way from home ⚫️ i still had the luger pistol in my leather bag around my shoulder it made it difficult to enter the phone box as the door was on a firm spring ⚫️ i knew our phone number as well people recited their number when answering the phone in those days ⚫️ i had been told to lift the receiver and say clearly fairlands 4205 ⚫️ the phone box smelled musty and i had no money but i lifted the receiver and dialled the number and listened to the bleep bleep bleep ⚫️ my family must really be missing me and worried too ⚫️ i exited the phone box and retraced my steps ⚫️ passed the shops down boney hole across sears park down to the falcon field over the carriageway up the hill to fieldsend road and then on down down down round the corner past the tall hedge and in through the front gate and the noisy side gate quietly in fear and trepidation ⚫️ dad was working in his garden mum was working in her kitchen brother lying on the sofa ⚫️ what a crazy world im living in ⚫️ nothing was ever said no questions were ever asked even about the anonymous phone call because no one had even noticed that i had left home ⚫️ all this on the day i decided to leave home for the first time ⚫️

writtenbyedenbray17.11.17

its a bailey … using no traditional punctuation

⚫️ ⚫️

TOY LUGER

Posted in baileys, edenbray MEMOIRS | Tagged gander green lane, its a bailey, luger pistol, memoirs, st dunstans hill | Leave a comment

LISTEN .. .

Posted on November 12, 2017 by edenbray

Listen .. .

Bali_Bomb_Blast

There’s always thunder in the distance

The sound of war not far behind

You can count the years on fingers

Man’s lightning striking mankind down

writtenbyedenbray12.11.2017

Posted in edenbray POMES | Tagged REMEMBRANCE, WAR | Leave a comment

FACING UP .. .

Posted on November 12, 2017 by edenbray

Facing Up

(YOU BROKE MY HEART)

wiv me Dad at Bognor Butlins

…

I CAN’T SAY ‘You broke my heart’

It hurts me too much

I never knew you, we never spoke

I never knew you that much ..

..

The world it’s turning slowly

Each and every damn day

When we are children everything is rosy

Things you love moving away

I stepped on the pavement

Walked on the long, wet, grass

Buried my seed in earth’s umber vase

It’s been so hard to face up

..

And if you had a moment

I’d whisper in your ear, I always loved you

I always said a prayer

I never changed a moment

..

In my heart, I hold such a memory

I have tales I can tell

Pass me that whiskey

Then I’ll whisper it well

..

People don’t understand

When your shot to the hind

You run with a falter

And it prays on your mind

..

Now I must love my children

For my heart it might burst

For it’s not about the money

Not the chapter, nor the verse

..

So sing me your sad songs

Lady divine, & sing for your supper

Sweet lady of mine

For my love it is broken

.. .. and it bleeds from the vine

..

writtenbyedenbray12.11.2017

in memory of my sweet mother – Roma Joan and the love of my life

Posted in edenbray ESSAYS | Tagged FATHERS LOVE, LOVE'S LOST | Leave a comment

OLDFIELD

Posted on October 31, 2017 by edenbray

edenbray

Oldfield

Is taking the time

whose taken the train

or followed the line

to where the end is before the beginning ?

Whole nights wasted and forlorn

pasted in albums

with yellow ends torn

not even buried, not ever drawn

Fake moments dressed

cold cake, cold flesh

peppered bold, worn yet stressed

a layman’s cove

writtenbyedenbray13.11.2016

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Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

ENIGMA