YULIA’S PICTURE .. .

Posted on April 18, 2022 by edenbray

Yulia’s Picture .. .

YULIA'S PICTURE

the bracken swallows the land
green and gargoyled
it destroys good black sod
full of minerals and of meaning
where the wheat corn might sway
it travels at an alarming rate
soil as dark and crumbled
as my children’s powder paint
where they hang their pictures
now that all may see
at a universal gallery
my fridge hangs on a ledge
hanging open its contents spread
I forgot to buy some milk
but now it does not matter
the picture my eldest child painted
a little torn, is of a recent trip
we spent some time away
south of Chornobyl by the lake
fridge magnets we have bought
from many different places
still cling to our refrigerator
the one we we spent a fortune on
last September before the bracken spread
I can still see them clinging, magnetic
and my sweet Yulia’s painting
in the picture on the newsreel
the one the world can see
in every other country
the march of time will never clear that fog
long after building dust
and cement may have settled
on the day we do our baking
the kids and me while Natalya is working
at the packing factory
but now my kids have been taken
a long way away
we cannot gather round for tea
to enjoy our day of baking
the vows we made lie broken
by the Russian army
their nation and its leader

©edenbraytoday17.04.2022

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RUNES IN THE GRANITE .. .

Posted on April 14, 2022 by edenbray

Runes in the granite!

war

Beneath stones of repetition

     constructed stories thrilled the imagination

history’s enclave subdued like

     sleeping dogs replete who will waken

their gnarled training fuels the corrupted

     veins of their organic solutions

emerging gainly the parachutes

     of contemplative absolution and books

we write lines in vapour upon the

     halcyon of our darkness and harrow

the investigation of fears only

     heightens innate cerebral consternation

the aptitude of sleep, age, death

     will eradicate all unanswered questions

                                                                 ©edenbraytoday30.03.2022

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BY THE HILL AT WHITBY .. .

Posted on April 13, 2022 by edenbray

By the Hill at Whitby

WHITBY

By the sight of thee thy crumbling stones
thy pale, bleached devotion
mid books of learning
thy faith-filled gall
not surrendered yet
despite all this castigation
of Caedmon’s poem

We gather, rent of our disposition to deify
where easterly winds fly
the shells of our invaders
upon the promontory
austere, clandestine
removed, asinine, bleak
prone to solipsism

Wrestle the nightmares of thy youth
write pain of thine infirmity
writhe the vampire
imbibe his hidden grail
not feared of gargoyle
nor despot, dane, nor abbes
nor vexed of declining shoreline

Opening to thy windswept earth vernal
womb to thy mother’s bruising
bones of the stigmata
layered neath thy holiness
thy ageing strata
loosing their remains
given of thy raging sea

Long the night winds batter constant
the lashing rain’s fervency
provoking dissemination
determined in its decay
where trees denied
cannot grow nor minster
as communities of grace

The war torn manner of thy heritage
fits not the life of the chaste
hermits, christ’s brides, hide
thine lives in honest living
honour offers within
thy soulful giving
obedience paid with shilling

By the hill at Whitby I fly a flag of peace
where lies souls deceased
amid thy ruined past
thine harbour shelter
oft thy rampant sea
thy foe, thy ravaged history
thine earnest prayers I see

                          ©edenbraytoday07.04.2022

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THE CONTEST .. .

Posted on April 5, 2022 by edenbray

the contest .. .

lets raise children

Narrative and subversion
  we talked well past night
of cannibals and bhikkhus
  to stand at green park
the corner of my stream
  a cold, cardboard case
unfolding a grey backdraft
  cerebral observations, blood
here comes your bayonet
  to put an end to that plaintiff
the nights we drove through
  fire and arable exclusion
the windows open, throwing
  bad memories after good
into the past of Doctor Seuss
  stopped for the hitchhiker
who has been further on
  in this contest of life where
only monkeys enjoy laughter
  absurdity wrestles all the time
with the grandest of illusions
  and at the side of the road
always a tri-horned deer
  not road-kill, who has breath
cumulus by the orange grove
  the apple orchard, the winery
they learn to tread softly
  upon your spherical hopes
your tired, complex dreams
  where the homeless bed
in woollen coats they found
  children are the only hope
we might love them to be better
  fresh raspberries for tomorrow

                              ©edenbraytoday03.02.2022

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TATTERED FLAG .. .

Posted on March 29, 2022 by edenbray

Tattered Flag .. .

soldier-British-trench-Western-Front-World-War

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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MULTIPLES .. .

Posted on March 25, 2022 by edenbray

Multiples .. .

ink bottle

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

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. .. WALKING IN THE CITY BY THE BAY .. .

Posted on February 22, 2022 by edenbray

. .. Walking in the city by the Bay! .. .

san-francisco-cable-car-rides

On the rise to Haight
  the sun never shines like it does in Frisco
  in white strides and a tee
  my girl and me
she as sexy as Janis Joplin
  we stop to light another spliff
      three times today already
      we consummate our love
I have been reading about the mantra
  Timothy Leary
      damn her nipples are hot
When we return again to Stanyan
  on the corner of the street…
    … if we ever have a child
      I THINK we should call her Jannis
I can hear her music playing
  her raucous sexy voice
The sun is orange with clouds passing by so fast
  people on seats drinking coffee
      at night green wobbly, wooden tables
Big Brother and the Holding Company
  I think they are better than the Dead
      man that dope is good
        my girl so warm inside that tie-dye vest
I’m hoping this day will never end
  up hear on Pacific Heights I can see the golden bridge
      looks kinda’ red to me!
      this walk should never end
          just me and my girlfriend
          damn her nipples are so hot!

©edenbraytoday21.02.2022

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JACKSON’S APOLOGY #4821

Posted on January 27, 2022 by edenbray

Jackson’s apology #4831
Jarvisse #01001
.. .. .. . … ..;.  uhh uhh?

.. : … :: :
Unfold the paper napkins spread them out
    the tournament begins, the festival
understanding, is like reaching through pillows
    not pillows of regret, caverns, warm and hollow

We may yearn to reach the plateau through our loss
    fold back the sensual flaps laid out before summer light
carnality, sometimes only a reason and a means to forget
    it is not love, it is brutal, harsh, painful and sordid

I prostituted myself, laid myself bare as a junkie on acid
    I was trying to be serious, to show a fine tail of feathers
too late, the joke was out, everybody laughed, imagined it funny
    yet the joke was ironic, only full only of cognitive dissonance
   
   

                                            ©edenbraytoday23.01.2022

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GUEST POEM – DISCO 2000

Posted on January 25, 2022 by edenbray

Disco 2000

written by Pulp ~  

Candida Doyle / Jarvis Branson Cocker / Mark Andrew Webber / Nick Banks / Russell Senior / Stephen Patrick Mackey

Oh, we were born within an hour of each other
Our mothers said we could be sister and brother
Your name is Deborah (Deborah)
It never suited ya
And they said that when we grew up
We’d get married, and never split up
Oh, we never did it, although I often thought of it

Oh, Deborah, do you recall?
Your house was very small
With wood chip on the wall
When I came ’round to call
You didn’t notice me at all

And I said, “Let’s all meet up in the year 2000
Won’t it be strange when we’re all fully grown?
Be there two o’clock by the fountain down the road”
I never knew that you’d get married
I would be living down here on my own
On that damp and lonely Thursday years ago

You were the first girl at school to get breasts
And Martyn said that you were the best
Oh, the boys all loved you, but I was a mess
I had to watch them try and get you undressed
We were friends, that was as far as it went
I used to walk you home sometimes but it meant
Oh, it meant nothing to you
‘Cause you were so popular

Deborah, do you recall?
Your house was very small
With woodchip on the wall
When I came ’round to call
You didn’t notice me at all

And I said, “Let’s all meet up in the year 2000
Won’t it be strange when we’re all fully grown?
Be there two o’clock by the fountain down the road”
I never knew that you’d get married
I would be living down here on my own
On that damp and lonely Thursday years ago

Do it
Oh, yeah
Oh, yeah

Now Deborah, do you recall?
Oh, your house was very small
With wood chip on the wall
And when I came ’round to call
You didn’t notice me at all

And I said, “Let’s all meet up in the year 2000
Won’t it be strange when we’re all fully grown?
Be there two o’clock by the fountain down the road”
I never knew that you’d get married
I would be living down here on my own
On that damp and lonely Thursday years ago

Oh, what are you doing Sunday, baby?
Would you like to come and meet me, maybe?
You can even bring your baby
Ooh ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
What are you doing Sunday, baby?
Would you like to come and meet me, maybe?
You can even bring your baby
Ooh ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

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CHRiSTMAS 2021

Posted on December 23, 2021 by edenbray

…

CHRISTMAS 2021

– with extensive Authr’s Notes

.

461

..

Jiffy-black crow get off the road
the meals not worth the life you’re owed
get home to your ma and your family
this mist and this fog its Christmas eve

I jagged myself on a holly bush
my blood the colour of the berries
they were sharp and they were sour
and they so full of poison

a pheasant flew behind me
it was a squawkin’ as they like to do
and thus it did remind me that all we give
and all we get it ain’t worth sweat

I lit a fire, I read my book
I smoked a tasty, black cheroot
I drank from a glass so full of whiskey
I looked up at the night sky

..

                                                               edenbraytoday23.12.2021

.. .

. ..

AUTHOR’S NOTES : I wrote this to kind of reflect on this Christmas time I suppose, families and all … what we’ve all been through lately with like fears about covid and dying and stuff … then what Christmas is meant to be about now, I stuck Jesus blood and his pain and suffering in there and shit like that, I also snuck in like a free-style, game bird – not a goddam fucking no-life turkey, then there’s a kind of reasonant, meaningful what-not about it all being more than just presents and greed and all and then I thought I’d finish it off with thoughts of what I like to do, things I enjoy at Christmas – you know a good smoke and a drink, fun, meaningful, mystical kind of stuff, stargazing and all – damn – and I missed my dear wife outta this piece – she’s gonna hate me – H.C. y’all! ❅ edenbray x

illustration on the theme  – he came to die

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