Originally written and posted 20.12.2011 ~ Re-posted 10.12.2019

as part of an edenbray retrospective

… … …

… … …

Freedom’s Son


The dumber dark sod of a creamier winter than I remember ~
Of the naked trail of me and my girl looking down on the moving town
We were restless and naive or dancing stock full of Blake’s innocence
I coulda’ cupped her breast in my flickering grasp or pressed warm lips against hers
But I heard the voice of people’s talking and the scant blue sky rolled its eye
We frolicked then with freedom as lambs, leaves and kites are prone to do
Determined and resolute in a still-born manner, I transgressed that sodden snow
Yet who then listens to logic worn or brittle-bone speeches, incantations
from empty spell wizards with cavernous heads and small grey eyes?
We have been born with a vision like wet clay on a soldiers bloodied boot
We can again shape a madonna smile, a naked infants belly and a bakers brick oven all
Where then will we put so many failed dreams if not to be within our care-worn hearts?
Where indeed is the mothers experience when relationships die and the second son
is now the only one bothered or angry to break his silence, his heart and cry?
Fourteen years is a lifetime when you’re still yearning to fly forward
yet in the dredged plumes of grey-bird smoke that trails so many lives
there is always a gnawing monster who follows every precious step
aims to catch and pin every sun-gold memory like laurel-stained butterflies
and travels like a steaming train through landscapes loving, burned or swollen
The liberty bell still ringing – draws the people from their church
where an army of small coloured children are singing and clapping happy hello’s. 










#Authors note ~ sometimes I feel the need to qualify the things I say and do – like I have an unseen eye hovering over me – I am my sternest critic – I am the law of what is right or wrong and what is allowed and yet again sometimes I don’t – Freedom’s Son can be any males perspective – which sounds more exclusive than it is meant  – Again I resort to my  Jessica Phirri – my priest – my vouchsafe – does she qualify me or confirm me? She exonerates me and probably says what I want to hear. – edenbray today 

January 4, 2012 at 2.06 am – As always, EB, your words make me feel; make me think. “We have been born with a vision like wet clay on a soldiers bloodied boot” really means quite a lot and perfectly expresses the mixed emotions I feel about love and life. What a wordsmith you truly are. What apprehension we must live with when living and dying all at the same time. God Bless YOU’

#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation

About edenbray

I'm a writer ... I write .. . I’m not sure why I ever stopped, was it 9/11? .. . edenbray is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions ~ the effluence of my short life .. . I am a Writer and Artist since 1966 - I'm an avid Blogger ~ I write lots of poems, written essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment .. . I have had many poems selected for Anthologies of verse and recently have published many of my poems in 24+ themed booklets ... please ask for details - join the shebang by leaving me a marker with a 'like' or a comment for my ego and encouragement and thanks for listening - I really value your interest ~ edenbray
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