To celebrate the launch of the FIRST EDITION of a self-published pamphlet containing all 11 poems in the Complete Collection of BALADIN’S DREAM and OTHER TALES by edenbray, along with full Authors Notes I am offering a signed, printed hard-copy for just £5 inc. post/packing for orders within the United Kingdom and £6.50 inc. shipping for orders outside the UK ~ This is a limited time offer!
#NOTE ~ please email ME ;~ email@example.com or post a comment in the comments box at the foot of this page and request details of how to make payment ~ including your name and the address where you would like the printed copy to be sent ~ PLEASE indicate if it is to be a gift. Many thanks ~ edenbraytoday
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TO Celebrate this occasion I am re-posting all eleven parts – today I am posting BALADINS DREAM ~ Part III
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and OTHER TALES
BALADIN’S DREAM ~ III
Authors Note ~
Baladin, the wise & learnéd but on this occasion ~ ‘Baladin the Storyteller’ ~ Normally as a storyteller it is Baladin who himself ‘were there’ at some point of his long & varied life ~ either as a boy ~ as a man – as a lover or as a friend.
For those familiar with my writing and my stories you will have met Baladin before. He is as old as time, he is as wise as any old & dusty, gold-leafed book you might find in the curiosity section of your favourite old-town book shop. Baladin ~ DemBala the Wolfmaster, who has seen nearly all ~ the good, the bad and yes the ugly and so, gather round folks – to hear this tale, both gentle and torrid.
This an 0de to the great Norsk & Greek Mythologies, it honours great fantasy authors such as J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis & the bard himself ~ Sir William S. of Stratford-upon-Avon. So tune the lyre and the Northumberland pipes, set ye ale in tankards ~ pewter, cooked meats on and off the bone, baked breads ~ fresh, hot and lascivious, agéd spirits & spiced foods ~ gather round the ‘toasting fire’ and let this Prince of wisdom’s tales so don his velvet tassle-cap to spin this yarn for us to hear and later tell to others. Let us now begin to listen in on tales renowned of Baladin. Let him unfurl this unholy Tale of Life from long ago and well ‘afore this pandendemic’ showed. Consider then Andriose, Andeleuse and Methuen ~ three souls that tell a tale at last to rival that of Romeo & Juliet!
CONCERNING ANDRIOSE AND METHUEN
* * *
A step as light as caused not lily leaf to tremor
A lithe and subtle frame, a skip and measured step,
A gait so gracious, so soft, latent and naive.
A mind of pastel colours, quiet and considered
and thoughts lush, rich and warm.
Who stepped on stones and pondered?
Or dipped a heel, a toe, in cool, fresh waters?
Or ran the smoothest sands to laugh?
Who walked with limbs tall and stretched?
Enjoying her youth, a sway, a turn, a giggle
Whose fun, gentle and intense?
A discovery of each moment, a personal joy!
Who splashed the waves that caught her midriff?
and bathed her body golden?
The rush, the spray, the hidden warmth,
as lovers lift and fall!
* * *
And Methuen? who loved to watch the deer!
To climb the sun-baked granite and crouch!
Hearing trained on each sound and movement!
Where he might gaze the valleys green and ochre.
His sight as long as the purple-grey mountains
on the eastern slopes
Or wide as the grey-green hills beyond the river
Where he believed there might yet be a smaller breed
Who chased with velvet antlers high and various
He stretched now, a tall form caught raw
against the early evening sky
Where taut and toned, his limbs dusted
by the sands of the far plains
That the winds brought in a golden cloud each morning
The purple sky blushed peach caught his outline,
A dark, burnt-sienna, angled, firm and oiled by the days heat.
Methuen walked this path on mornings fair
Or even when the warm winds blew a tumult gale
That lifted plant and scrub and caused
the desert hares to scuttle
He loved to stand as now, the width of vision so intense
He could at times have cried, so moved with joy
The splendid epic set was so rare even to his unknowing gaze
This was the land he knew and cared for
and though in clear light he could see so far
That shapes sembled and moved to draw his attention
His wander-lust was satisfied in thought
and the sad pangs that caught him when considering
Even several nights beyond the care of his sweetest Andriose
Whose love lit stars in the night sky
and helped his wakened thoughts to settle.
Would the morning catch them?
Bonded gold by the bright gamboge day-star!
Or would the night draw back the veil of passions seed bed?
and show the naked lovers enlaced, plaited?
Methuen loved Andriose, this she knew full well
and when she heard the evening birds call
She waited for his safe return.
He never far behind, brought her mountain flowers
She wore them in her hair.
written 07.91~ edited 25.11.1992/14.10.2011
CONCERNING DANUCK THE YOUNGER
* * *
alt. The Other Woman
( there always has to be another woman )
… and Andeleuse so cold, had watched the mating couple
as the sun set beyond Adderropp and vowed then, did she,
that he would be her golden lover as to herself she made
this certain promise, whilst Methuen, whose eyes so full of stars
was thrilled by her attentions and her acquaintance had never
yielded or in his heart wandered, but then as a lazy lion lays down
with love, lioness or a black viper that feels the need of heat
he squandered fair Andriose, whose heart he fully broke
and for this love of lust the maidens heart he cur’d so hard
herself, she washed in dust, cut her hair to stalks and cried
herself in and out of sleep and pain ‘atop the ‘Gorgeous’
Mountain ~ that Mountain so generous to her, so full as she,
before the news of Methuen’s folly adored, which spread through
the association of the couples families, friends, hierarchy
and enemies – as people often do
Methuen himself, donkey brained and distraught struck out
as a tortured character from a bards sonnet, he so full of woe
and lamenting, forgot to dress and ran naked through the town
the parts spent in his recent treachery for all to see so jangled
like jailor’s keys from his waist bronzed and eerie in evening light.
The naked lover found his naked Gillot lying in grit and rough
grass, her knees, breasts, bloodied, her face black with bruising
and the grief.
He lifted the palest Andriose – a crushed wild flower, carried
her to water, where by a mountain pool he plied her with love
and necessary tenderness ~ the intimacy that only truest
lovers then may share, till even a faint smile crept across her face,
for she felt no hatred, only hurt and senseless failure.
* * *
Three weeks on and in that night as cold as winter, dark as
writing ink, Andeleuse let blood from a gaping wound in her lean,
long neck ~ severed by a skinning knife whilst she slept and
borrowed from Andriose’s own father, the hunter ~ this
subsequent hatred formed from vengeance that pursues truth
where all judgements are settled by dark reason that in turn
settles the folly that is neither accident, nor providence nor
certainly nature’s will.
Andeleuse’s father, Danuck the elder, now added in part
to this sad and sorry tale.
In early recognition of his daughters larceny,
Danuck saw only sadness must follow for these three
heart-crossed lovers, whether foul or fair
and so too upon the night of the greater felony
he followed at a distance to see how things might turn out
for the truest apple of his eye.
Danack then found and took her body, his righteous indignation of
his loins fruit, his incurable pain and hid all and buried her where
no one, not even animal or wolf or angels wand would ever find or
mutilate, he took this end to his grave for the end of love
and for a two who were not even his own, nor ever could be.
Stranger still that when Andriose and Methuen birthed a younger
~ they named him Danuck. He grew to be a mighty leader!