Guilt O’ guilty ~ here take my hands, my teeth, my voice! …
In Memory of Jesse Washington (1897 – 1916)
I am crawling on my knees
rolling in the dust and the cinder ashes
of this tragedy, coals to my feet
Spittle hanging from my chin
my eyes swelling in their shrinking sockets
of angers flames consuming me
Thoughts spinning in my head
my heart exploding in my barrelled chest
of the torture mankind can render
Reason running with these blackened legs
my integrity, is it skulking in green bushes
of the questions only conscience guesses?
Jesse Washington, seventeen, is burning
my senses revolting at such torrid history
of racism, the shared pain of human shame
I am questioning in my tortured brain
my teeth grinding in my silent mouth
of hatred, the true price for each of Jesse’s teeth
I am standing on these burnished feet
my courage feins returning as a ‘Glory’ soldier
of writing new stories, black ink, whitened paper
© edenbraytoday 02.04.2021
I am crawling on my knees
rolling in the dust and the cinder ashes
of this tragedy, coals to my feet
Spittle hanging from my chin
my eyes swelling in their shrinking sockets
of angers flames consuming me
Thoughts spinning in my head
my heart exploding in my barrelled chest
of the torture mankind can render
Reason running with these blackened legs
my integrity, is it skulking in green bushes
of the questions only conscience guesses?
Jesse Washington, seventeen, is burning
my senses revolting at such torrid history
of racism, the shared pain of human shame
I am questioning in my tortured brain
my teeth grinding in my silent mouth
of hatred, the true price for each of Jesse’s teeth
I am standing on these burnished feet
my courage feins returning as a ‘Glory’ soldier
of writing new stories, black ink, whitened paper
© edenbraytoday 02.04.2021
Write a poem for contest Jesse Washington – a Tortured Death – Lou Woodfae
‘Glory’ – a must see film about the 54th Massachusetts Infantry Regiment
‘Glory’ – a must see film about the 54th Massachusetts Infantry Regiment
edenbray ☢︎ - a BEAT POET 
THIS BRITAIN .. .
THIS BRITAIN .. .
.
I woke one day in that awful season pulling wallpaper from the drabbest wall
I heard the cuckoo in my head, that sound I had come to dread and larks ascending
Descending, on an unmade bed where art lives for arts sake neath a poem of bard Blake
.
I woke in context of a bad dream where monsters cavort and roll pale green eyes
Beneath the wonder of clear, bluish skies, the wolds of March on a winters day
In a land of penicillium cheese and home grown ale where the dance to America set sail
.
There the rocks of nature, sandstone, limestone, granite mountains, plundering streams
Wordsworth said to Byron sell me one of your dreams for a sovereign and a ha’penny
Whoever shouts the loudest up on Bleaklow, carry sphagnum moss for the younger Bronte
.
Hardy quipped mid roseships O’Dorchestor, Grande now bows low to her Manchester
But the loss is not lost on all us holy, from Lindisfarne to St Michaels Mount and Gwent
Who wait in an orderly queue in tower block rain for a ticket that’s money well spent
.
As the wood chip paper falls from the wall, I dream of Deborah, the common people
Those spires and chimneys, Lowry men, street dogs, Cambridge punts and steeples
Its time to wake up now, dress the children, gather the wood, honour the good
.
I caught a circle in the sky, the RAF fly around here above the fens, marshland and the wild sea
Gannets patrol from Argentina, those pirate birds disgorge Arctic terns, geese winter from Siberia
We have seaside entertainers – standup Jimmy Carr, the Proclaimers who never need retainers.
.
History is a Book of Kells, a Magna Carta, a Road to Wigan Pier, the Order of the Garter
Questions on a unique quiz for a Bamber Gascoigne starter and we all saw Gazza cry
Shankley, Stein, Busby had other fish to fry on a Friday night in Bootle with Richard Starkey
.
Such malarkey, tis not a limerick Edward Lear to bring good cheer to people dressed in khaki
Over the sea in a pea green boat rivals not Dante, yet Comedy if that is what you want then
Pull up a chair for Will Hay an’ Georgie Formby, you havin’ a giraffe, your sides will split in two
.
For we own a solid culture out under the stars – Olivier, Rutherford, Sirs Alec Guinness, Richard Burton
of early-day saints, the goons, the salt of the earth, shopkeepers, flat caps, Scots and Irish Dragoons
William Shakespeare on the Village Green, Kinks take banter from Noel and Liam Galacher, Damien’s Blurr
..
Listen O’ “Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art” were I to begin again in any other hallowed tone
were I to feast on luncheon vouchers inspired by the Earl of Sandwich, of cucumber, buttered bread and cricket
The ambiguity of reason attested to in season by the likes of Keats, Wordsworth, Benjamin Zephaniah
..
O Britain roll your blood-red carpets down and welcome a history of Queens, Kings and Royal Swans
The history of commerce and monetary exchange, Fleet Street, Bank and Shaftesbury Lane, corgis,
the Hilman Minx and Hawker Hurricane Planes all legends that show disdain for our current inaptitude
..
Stand round Stonehenge or from whence those stones were hued, multitudes Whitman, Pollock imbued
Who left us in the lurch, America bright America born of a virgin bride, taken from Great Britains side
Like the rib of Adams sleep, where pioneers and pilgrims still weep, the pagan circle now complete
..
Barter not the charter of the Mayflower, sweet English rose must once again send her roots down deep
Stand alone in her own sea, build her castles strong as Lancaster and Stirling, Carrickfergus, Caernarfon
We have no more the duty of regret, no one has taken more blame for our Colonial shame disperged of Christian blood
..
Same blood we left in Flanders field or spilt in building civilisations honest moments, we for long enough
Tied to Moses burning bush, laid bare on Isaacs altar, we attest to the democratic oath often more than most
So, this Britain shake your mane, shout your roar, this dragons at the door give him no quarter fight now for son, die for daughter
..
© edenbraytoday01.03.2021
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