i met a boy once fresh of face
he was of a chubby stock and curled hair
not affected by drugs or any rock n’roll rhythm
who ran naked to the sea for his mother’s florin
who grew to be a loyal lover aye ‘a wimaway
in the mighty jungle where the lion sleeps
while few weep long of his memory
his august lips buried deep of many rosehips
the thorns he bore a’plenty in his hands and feet
who wore his mother’s cross
a gold that held no chagrin
but earnest tears upon his surplus
he was a gentle child, a gentle man
who took his place at altar with a determined stare
who was a priest born out of time
a gentle heart he shared
for all those born who would even listen
so much love to share of the little he were given
a mother’s share, another august rhyme
of God’s love he was stricken
to fall down on his knees to find his place
clouds of mercy arrived one by one
multiples in the valley of decision
multiples the patient’s stare
burden of the beast that society moulds
his heart was broken as the oxen
to grind the corn as Samson who grew such hair
stepped out and in the London basin
the thunder and the lightning
the elders can be frightening who held no love
multiples who still emerge
he blanched not to wear a cardigan
his soul born beside the o’ so grubby river
soldiers of experience, D’Artagnan and his brothers
he drifts on like wood on water
birthing two sons, two daughters
painting his soul in colours of anguish
where people live and memories die
struck out across the parameters
a city man who started again and again
multiples, a long line of trials before
now standing watching life go up in smoke
it is time to put on a shirt
shelve the tie-dye tie more multiples adding up
till the illusion is overblown and shattered
who empathises caution within politician’s lies
their deceit is nigh complete
but why do children and love always suffer?
multiples stutter, and another
and another, golden boy
with his golden balls and his rusted shovel
the boy in him has curly hair again
the image of his eternal mother
he’ll doff the serpents skin forever
rise like phoenix with God’s own ashes
set this world of shame to rights
Jonah and his Samsonite brothers
multiples, I’ve met multiples so many
on the dark side of the prairie so few
where the coyote slinks
where he hides to pounce as always
a bottle buried in the ground
with a message hidden, written in black ink
©edenbraytoday15.03.2020
edenbray ☢︎ - a BEAT POET 
TATTERED FLAG .. .
Tattered Flag .. .
Down by the Ypres point
I thought I saw an old woman
she was wearing a woollen shawl
and in her eyes I only saw aloneness
In the dykes and in the gutter
she searched in sorrow for her soldier boy
as she stabbed the rats away
the woman had forgotten how to pray
Across the tawny grasses
all standing in an uneven row
bowed backed and heavy with twilight dew
she advanced on another bed of brothers
Thrown here and there
she glanced at every face
and some she stopped to arrange their hair
she wished she had still a prayer to say
The sound of gunfire in the distance
reminded her of where she were
the age of these young lovers
none to return to their mothers
Her lonely solitude now complete
her soul beyond torment
her every tear was spent, she bent
to another fallen lord believing now there was no God
An eerie shaft of sunlight fell
upon a hill festooned of bodies
and there he lay full sail upon an open sea
the son she bore it seemed a gentle smile he wore
She hoisted up one limpid flag that she had found
then threw herself upon the ground to mourn
the night and cry the flag, it fluttered on the hill by light
‘aye a different sun and ‘aye the saddest sight
©edenbraytoday29.03.2022
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