Originally written and posted 1st, May, 2012 – Re-posted 16th January, 2020 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective

… … …



By the ferris wheel and then I danced by the painted galloping horses

Four-teen and twenty I saw my darling sweep by me wearing yellow on this day

Her cheeks flushed peaches pink with a smile bloody, full and charming

The pall, the pang of a wounded soldier caught and dangling from a wire tree

Caught like a baited bird, sore and swinging but with eyes wet and longing

The passion of the grey dawn is still fighting despite the night so blue behind me

Have I spent so much time writing songs to lose you to a word chipped or broken?

Or does the honest tale I copied from my night-time memory now betray me?

Be the sweet honest table upon which I lay my cotton shirt and my glass bullets cold

I could step out with you my sweetness and my crazy, I could walk tall beside thee

and taking your softest hand I hold your fingers warm and fragrant like petals orange

I also hold the day when for all the arrows falling, life had lost its meaning

We had talked of romance and laughter and flirted long the mystery of men and women

Mended nets, collected glowworms, sent skyrockets, danced with friends on a Tuesday

and made up tales where valiant vagabonds met warm breasted whores they ever trusted

Or spoke of falcons and embroidered waistcoats, lace bodices, the plumpest cooing doves

Then broke the frightened doe, she springing from a gnarled old thick-skin oak so callous

Sporting daisies, white convolvulus ever a lying stem and the poachers nettled sister

All these the summer sun greet meekly and hide in clenched fist with a mailed hand

When Rose-Marie, she walks the tightrope dressed from toe to top in bronzed curly gilt

saying so sweetly ‘These were only stories she could ever muster upon that loyal Wheel’

I could have been so many people for thee silver lady, we sure shone together for a day

and drew the poisons from the ransacked villagers ideas and scheming  opinion

A day washed in ginger and lemon, when prince’s fathers come to arrange dowry,

Ponies wear flowered garlands and the urban streets even seem dressed in gold light

But for now it is well that this painted cabinet has been decked, daubed and decorated

Garments of fragrant and true broderie anglaise, washed and folded, tidied away

A book of watercolour, a notebook of honesty and the silver threads of the stallions mane

Who flies the sky, the drenched darkened night where Orion sits and counts his bounty?

His honesty knows above all others that once she had shone silver more like a true star


But for now


#Authors Note – This is another piece I hardly recognise. Upon reflection, I’m sure ‘The Heroine’ would have been a good title for it. I think it was personal to me when I wrote it. Of course it was personal. Everything I write is personal. For how else is one supposed to write. I think I love it and I also hate it. No, not like marmite. Its almost perfect and perfect things always have a habit of disappointing you finally. The object of this piece has disappointed the writer. It is very ‘past’ tense. I write very melancholic prose  anyway because nothing really worth saying is not tinged with sadness or nostalgia. All the best thoughts are memories – thank God for our memories! – Yes, ‘the Heroine’ might have been a better title – It’s certainly a lot easier to say.      – edenbraytoday 


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

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About edenbray

I am a writer ... a beat poet who began writing poetry way back in 1966 ... 'edenbray is born ugly, wet, covered in blood, mucous & bodily functions, the effluence of my short life' ... I recently published my 1st solo Anthology - the best of 60 years writing - previously I ran my own Art Supplies Store for 40 yrs before I became a full-time writer I am a Blogger who has posted 1,000 poems - available in 24 themed booklets ... please ask for details + leave a 'like' or a comment for my encouragement, thank you so much for listening - I truly value your opinion on my work ~ in fact I literally survive on your creative input ~ edenbray
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