BALADIN’S DREAM ~ PART I

Originally written ~ July 27, 1991 – 1st posted ~ February 8, 2012 – Re-posted January 1, 2020 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective

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BALADIN’S DREAM

PART Ⅰ

BALADIN’S DREAM

☨ ☨ ☨

A stream of prosaic adventures

like clouded marble glass

lit within by holy fire

illumined and permeated by

citrus light that grows outward

☨ ☨ ☨  

Journeys made in smooth streams

timeless travel on limitless purpose

the gold-crowned clouds of bird-blue skies

a wild and spattered foundation

for the unimaginable imagined

☨ ☨ ☨

Clean, rushing water

bronze, round pebbles

and rainbow clusters hidden

Baladin’s dream abounds

unrestrained, the danger point passed

his mind rushing on into the

green garden of summer delights

☨ ☨ ☨

Freedom personified and only music in his ears

sometimes light as shepherd flutes and gypsy fiddles

others grandiose and building

but always triumphant and bronze-gold

☨ ☨ ☨

Baladin has seen many muddied summers

soured moments caught as struggling 

flies held by indescribable murk

☨ ☨ ☨

He has felt cold winds that dry and burn

and has lain parched, unwanted,

in deserts fading fire

☨ ☨ ☨

He has for a time known the dull blank blindness

of a night which has no end

and seen bloody pain

☨ ☨ ☨

Held the hand of tortured flesh

sat beside the spirits of the abused

and also known the rush of blood

the fire of unholy passion, ugly greed

☨ ☨ ☨

He, for a time was a victim of grey forces

whose stench and tireless intrigue

had led him naked and fettered

sightless and without cause

☨ ☨ ☨

Baladin was now an old man

his hair long and greyed, hanging loosely

his wisdom now only made him

forget the ugly tales he might tell

of recollections and reflections the old are

prone to and feel deserved of

☨ ☨ ☨

Baladin sat with his mother-wife who had

known so much of him and yet so little

Love as blind as new-born leverets

had knit them as a well-worn rug

and they two could ponder

on the wonder of a blushed red sun 

as it lay in the twilight

grey-blue streamers coiled around

and running through it

the form of two naked lovers held forever

☨ ☨ ☨

Baladin’s mind and spirit left now to wonder

looked out and beyond into the bright morning

he travelled the skua-skies

journeys wondrous birds make twice a year

and dreamed a dream so beautiful …

( to be continued …)

☨ ☨ ☨

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writtenbyedenbray27.07.91

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#Authors note ~ Baladin, my ageless yet ancient companion, my friend and advisor, my confidant, my alter-ego. He is a Leonardo cartoon, an unfinished Hemingway, a lesser-known album by Radiohead, a Heaney scribbled verse, a Picasso drawing that one Carlos Garcia found in a box in a Madrid attic, He is a Turner watercolour sketch that I stole in one mad moment from the Clore Gallery Archive at the Tate*. He is a fine bottle of Barolo or Montepulciano. Baladin is a priest, he is a sensuous lover, a good husband, a pioneer, a hunter, an explorer, a visionary. ~ He is someone you might trust and retire to on a dark night when you were anxious, troubled or afraid. Baladin has always kind of been … …

He is a poet, a prophet, a soothsayer, a dreamer of dreams, Baladin is dangerously wise. Baladin has seen it all and more. More than most anyway and yet he still emerges into the sunlight, out of the blizzard or into the rain. He still steps up and steps forward for yet more of this tortured, human experience.                                             ~ edenbray ~ today

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

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More of Baladin?

BALADINS DREAM PART II  ~ > BALADIN’S DREAM PART II

BALADINS DREAM PART III ~ > BALADIN’S DREAM PART III

BALADINS DREAM PART IV ~ > BALADIN’S DREAM PART IV

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