A NEW PUBLICATION:
MODERN WORKS 2020 ~ 17 – POEM 15
To celebrate the launch of my NEW booklet containing 16 diverse poems and essays entitled : MODERN WORKS 2020 – I am happy to offer a signed, printed hard-copy and FREE worldwide delivery. All but one of these 16 pieces are BRAND NEW WORKS completed during 2020.
This latest collection of written verse – MODERN WORKS 2020 – comes in the usual edenbray-pamphlet A5 format and is printed professionally and beautifully in a 36 page booklet style publication with a cream-stock card cover that I have self-published to my own specifications.
I am able to offer my 2020 Annual of Verse at an opening price of just £7.00 inc. post and packing for shipping to literally anywhere in the world. So please use the PAYPAL Link below to make your purchase or you can contact us by leaving a message in the comments box at the foot of this page or please email me directly at:-firstname.lastname@example.org – I would sincerely appreciate hearing from you and we will make sure you get a copy of my new book/pamphlet and also keep you up to date with any developments regarding my work. – (please indicate if you would rather NOT receive emails concerning my work when you order)
PAYPAL LINK – TO ORDER YOUR COPY OF – MODERN WORKS 2020
Many thanks ~ edenbray
Finally, to Celebrate the launch of my NEW BOOK I am posting all 16 poems over 16 consecutive days RIGHT HERE on my edenbray-BLOG-SITE B – TODAY – the Poem – PHIL LYNOTT WAS A POET : ~
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MODERN WORKS 2020
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PHIL LYNOTT WAS A POET .. .
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The wide, the woven, the smell of fear
Easier to hide than make a stand
Form a band, cover yourself in glory
Write your own story, nights of fury
Intelligence is weary, culture vulture
Under the lights of night your face black
Your heritage an echo, a Gaelic refrain
Up on the stage of fame, spike the stain
Carry me home, wander free, a family
Stand out under the stars naked, your
electric harp, with the boys of harmony
Bringing it home, not when you’re alone
Pass the skit, the rush, the hit, atonement
Write it down in your mothers scrapbook
Looking for the mass ascension, Johnny boy
Collecting friends along the way, adjacent
Musha ring dum a do, whack for my daddy-o
The jar is left, shake the tree, where did daddy go?
Fender Jazz, Precision, give it to sad clowns of derision
Learned to star, scar the stage, no boot stud indecision
Fame train carries a barb, a wye switch derailer
Home mommy’s kid, not greedie tin’ bitch syringe
Leather clad, punk sad, ride the ferris wheel ..
Get off the track, gentle guitar man, Lynott you are a poet