EDENBRAY visits - Number of Hits on this site
- 234 hits
- WHITE POST – TWO
- BATHSHEBA’S PROMISE
- WALK WITH ME A LITTLE WAY
- BOB DYLAN .. .
- ITS A BAILEY
- ITS A BAILEY
- LISTEN .. .
- FACING UP .. .
- AND ANOTHER THING .. .
- Enter – the Thief
- IN THE LAND OF NEVER WAS
- CHILD .. .
- TRIBUTE TO JAMES GANDOLFINI
- EXTRA OUTTA JAILHOUSE ROCK
- ARNO’S FIRE
- EDINBVRGH ~ YOU ARE A ROCK TO ME …
Hours & Info9.00 ~ 17.00
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Category Archives: edenbray POMES
White Post – Two .. I’m on my way to the white post again The white post calling me since I was six? I follow the dog who is pulling the hardest I always get to the white post the … Continue reading
Bathsheba’s Promise . O’ tumbled then the fairest whiskey both an’ the flowered wreath in Crispin’s wake Who lit a flame and carried bower o’er’ morning dew whoever slew the fatted ox Or caught the sun it’s nestled slew which … Continue reading
. Walk With Me A Little Way . .. Let’s not talk about our saddest stories Let’s not spoil this moment we have shared With darkened tales of pain and sorrow With cold memories of what we’ve endured . Let’s … Continue reading
Bob Dylan . . “Bob Dylan”, he said. “You musta’ heard a’ him.” “Sure, I heard a’ him. He sings songs done’ he?” The question in his voice kind of riled me. “A’ course he’s a singer, fool!” I kinda’ liked … Continue reading
Listen .. . .. There’s always thunder in the distance The sound of war not far behind You can count the years on fingers Man’s lightning striking mankind down .. writtenbyedenbray12.11.2017
the enigma .. .. tall, not short the enigma lives does not feel or feels too much refuses aid and scorns to trust with no desire to use a crutch .. alone again the enigma smiles investing dreams in hidden … Continue reading
Enter – the Thief ”’ Mercy is, yes mercy me, I find the battered key Opening dreams of mysterious dances you could not see Or touch, or feel, or understand with your mind Speaking words that glisten as fairy-dust that … Continue reading
HORSE .. .. One day I will walk off the face of the earth and there will be a kind of silence A gentle wind blowing, rustling the taller grasses, caught in golden clusters A bird’s call lost in the … Continue reading
ARNO’S FIRE . .. The swollen Arno overflows, only the wicked river knows A trail of umber sediment, borrowed nuggets of rose-gold Beneath the merchants tables, its soft, princely belly gored The flower of the Medici on laden, merchant-vessels moored … Continue reading