‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

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ALBION : THE RICH MAN’S SON

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‘Fiddlesticks and fannies’ young Marmaduke

The king won’t speak well a’ yourn – nor will he offer coin

He rewardeth only those who subjugate themselves

Show proper deference to the throne and this royal land

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This island is shrouded in a mist of uncertainty

And horses stall at sight of the unicorn o’ bathed in blood

Or careering as the ashen rider into a haelen’ storm

Whence the Wallace and the Roy did gi’ na’ quarter

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Long-ships once came upon a hapless maid with child

Who once called and her doting father answered

Now his honour challenged, displaced wi’ squander

There still remain one chance for he to render

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To ride the prince’s mount, the white horse regal

And clear ‘the heir’ of storm, of rock, of mischance

And to his own favoured arm bring forth her beauty

Unity ~ tailored, washed, pressed, laundered, referred

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Then stepped forth a shepherd’s son with locks

Full and gentle he and sporting yellered flowers

A dalliance with a restless cousin whose black mane

Curved and plaited with meadow grass the colour of her eyes

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These pair, the only refuge now for Albion’s son

Who heard from birth of succulent lands his rich father

Held control and sway and where he dipped his soldiers

The yarn stretched and torn around his masters tartan shawl

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writtenbyedenbray06.09.2014 

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#Authors Note : Edenbray on satire, on poetry – a double-bluff – You can tell this from this ~ that edenbray has always admired early Dylan – thats Bob not Thomas even though he were a Welshman – Riddles are as Riddle may ma’ dear – to quote – he who hath none to share but one – see, its easy when you know – but more interesting when you don’t.

No one can understand true satire like an Englishman – not a Scot, NOT a Welsh or Irish or any of the gaelic order – so it must be the truest, English part of me from whence thith came and I a friend and true and loyal Scot, a grandson of Irish true logic and the reddest hair who wears a true love of our Union sewn like a tattoo upon his fleshly, garment sleeve, blue and turquoise as a woad-man, red as spilt dragons blood, green as a Patrick prayer holy, sturdy as a Harlic beard so blonde and curly. – So, be it seen this day in Albion – fair sister, my own and truest brother that we together ARE indeed a Rich-man’s son & God bless you – all – dear British people at this so terrible time and amidst this so terrible pandemic brutal.                                                                                                                                        edenbraytoday