EDENBRAY in EXILE ~ Retrospective Anthology of Poems, Articles and Essays – Post-2011 – The Final List of 50

Posted on May 11, 2020 by

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poems, Articles and Essays

Post-2011

~ The Final Selection of 50 Pieces ~

… … …

– Posted on https://edenbray8.com/

– between March 25 and May 12th, 2020 –

…   …   …

Love is Blue                                                                 Poem                        Written 12.09.2013

Izon                                                                               Poem                        Written 24.03.2019

Frank Zappa and the Velvet Underground           Poem                        Written 27.08.2012

The Hibernian                                                            Poem                        Written 12.11.2012

A Black Satin Cloth                                                    Essay.                        Written 03.06.2012

Hydrate                                                                        Poem                        Written 05.08.2012

The Hringhorni                                                          Poem                        Written 13.09.2012

Red Moon                                                                    Poem                        Written 17.09.2012

its a bailey                                                                   Memoir                   Written 09.10.2012

From Here To Eternity                                             Poem                        Written 06.11.2012

What Did You See At The Movies?                         Poem                        Written 24.11.2012

If I Never Had Loved                                                Poem                         Written 17.11.2012

The Long Drive                                                          Essay                         Written 06.03.2013

Bottle of Pop                                                               Poem                         Written 13.04.2013

Titan                                                                             Poem                         Written 11.03.2013

Industry Specific Content                                        Poem                         Written 24.04.2013

Concerning Andriose and Methuen – BDIII        Poem                         Written 00.07.1991

its a bailey                                                                  Memoir                     Written 16.10.2013

Gangster, Assassin, Spy                                           Poem                         Written 26.09.2013

its a bailey                                                                  Memoir                    Written 26.11.1988

Trains In The Night                                                  Poem                         Written 14.10.2013

Turquoise 3                                                                Poem                        Written 21.05.2013

The Night I Discovered Football                            Poem                        Written 14.05.2013

i Sat With Eddie                                                        Poem                         Written 21.01.2013

Albion ~ The Rich Man’s Son                                  Poem                         Written 16.09.2014

Spytone 1003                                                             Poem                         Written 29.09.2014

‘Latrice, He Said – I Wanna’ Be Bob Dylan’         Poem                         Written 16.05.2013

Georges Roualt ~ An Appreciation                       Poem                         Written 10.02.2015

the Old Oak Tree                                                      Poem                         Written 00.00.1971

Reconfigure                                                              Poem                         Written 27.05.2014 

The Flag                                                                     Poem                        Written 02.02.2015

Honey Pot                                                                 Poem                        Written 27.01.2017

The Willow Awl                                                       Poem.                       Written 02.03.2017

Natreana                                                                   Poem                        Written 08.12.2015

Love Letters                                                             Poem                        Written 05.04.2014

Oldfield                                                                     Poem                        Written 13.11.2016

Rejection                                                                   Poem                        Written 26.03.2018

its a bailey                                                                Memoir                    Written 17.11.2017

Waves                                                                        Poem                        Written 26.05.1990

Chrysalid                                                                   Poem                        Written 26.04.2018

Perfecy                                                                       Poem                       Written 07.04.2018

If Truth Were Told                                                   Poem                       Written 28.10.1989

30,00 Hits Under The Sea                                      Article                     Written 06.02.2015

Yes, I’m Sure It Is Vermillion                                Poem                       Written 21.07.2018

My 4 Children                                                           Essay                      Written 10.04.2018  

She Was                                                                      Poem                     Written 01.06.2018

Jessica Madlala                                                         Poem                      Written 20.03.2018

Child                                                                           Poem                       Written 24.10.2015

Arno’s Fire                                                                Poem                       Written 10.03.2015

Sentinel                                                                     Poem                       Written 24.03.2020

…   …   …

.

‘I’ve always enjoyed writing and thats all I want to do…

I’m not sure why I ever stopped writing ~ was it 9/11?’

20200423_141644

edenbraytoday

edenbray

… is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions. The effluence of my short life – I’m a Writer, Artist and Blogger ~ poems, essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment.

.

Authors Note :  I have enjoyed being involved in the selection, re-editing, revised layout and in providing the extensive published notes accompanying these 50 written pieces, some of which I wrote over 40 years ago, one nearly 50 years ago but in the main – post 2011. The thing I notice in rediscovering them is that although my style and output has varied over the years it doesn’t take long for a certain friendly recognition to surface with each piece. They are like living milestones and they still evoke in me the feelings that prompted them when I wrote them. I do not feel I am a better writer than when I started writing seriously in 1966 although I do feel a bit wiser and a lot braver.

I always say that the writer is much like a cow in milk. Milk the cow regularly and she will continue to provide fresh milk for many years. I may have been pretty well milked already but I feel there is plenty more to squeeze out of these saggy old paps. Look out for my writing then in the future.                            Fondly  ~  edenbraytoday 12.05.2020

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cow.

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 49 – arno’s fire

Posted on May 11, 2020 by

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

🇮🇹

ARNO’S FIRE

…

Dante_and_beatrice

. ..

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

A tale told, a crucible of fire, bonfire of vanities, lust and desire

Firenze sleeps, artisans, courtesans both, purple, plush & bored

A cradle for a renaissance and Arno’s sacred arthouse store

. ..

writtenbyedenbray10.03.2015

,

sto3

 

GLOSSARY

Savonarola – Piero and the exile of the Medici: 1492-1494 – bonfire of vanities tuscany

Read more:http://www.historyworld.net/wrldhis/PlainTextHistories.asp?historyid=aa69#ixzz3TzqJ9YuP

….  …   …

#Original Authors Note – 22.10.2017 – Abridged by edenbraytoday – I agree I have never been what you might call a rhyming poet or written what you might call poems of form that are open to exegetic or critical poetic analysis. No negative judgement is intended or implied on such poems, many of which I revere. 

I have always tried to write in a more open style of prose. Perhaps ‘with a nod’ to the Beat-style writers & poets of the 60’s/70’s like Kerouac and Ginsberg, where feeling and emotion are more important than form although again all poetry should and must have a ‘form’ to be poetry, despite some of a more anarchic style who might disagree but even their work has a form even if sometimes it is harder to formally decipher..

I myself have suffered the occasional criticism for failings of ‘form’ and in a somewhat futile attempt to silence those critics of my work and address the inner demons who sometimes taunt, I entered a poetic society and whilst there, I entered this particular poem in a competition. It brought me much praise and some literally rave reviews from a few notable American poets who commented that it was and I quote ~ ‘the real thing’, which I admit I did find somewhat gratifying. O and I also received some criticisms – but hey, such is life. I am no longer a member of that society.

I actually like this piece because it seems to me, to meet the criteria of that competition very well and comments on the history of one of the world’s ‘great’ art cities – Florence in northern Italy.. I adore Italia and can’t wait to return and explore it still further.

I include it now as the penultimate selection in my 2nd Retrospective Anthology of Poems, Articles and Essays, out of sincere respect and reverence for Italia and the deaths they have suffered recently from the coronavirus – thank you for reading  ~ edenbraytoday 🇮🇹  🇮🇹

What do you think of my poem by the way? – you are allowed to comment at this stage of the proceedings and in fact I welcome your criticism! ~ Ciou! 

 

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 48 – child

Posted on May 10, 2020 by

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

CHILD

–

O’ weary me

O’ weary be

the sight of sun

the smell of sea

the yawn of death

the bite of flea

–

I give nothing

but a hand

a word, an arm

a coin, a kiss

the fanciful smile

a bared breast

–

O’ weary me

O’ weary be

the buzzing bee

a sight to see

and dangle thee

upon a knee

and so may we

hug our little children?

–

writtenbyedenbray24.10.2015

.

…   …   …

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Authors Note : I return to a much earlier style in this piece I wrote in October, 2015, more akin to my writing in the 70’s and 80’s

I have included it here as the 48th submission in my 2nd Retrospective for its simplicity and poignancy in detailing a parents view of their children and the unnecessary questions society asks of natural affection in the 21st Century but also as due to coronavirus – so many parents, grandparents and loved friends cannot hug ‘their’ children right now.     ~ edenbraytoday

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 47 – jessica madlala

Posted on May 10, 2020 by

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

Jessica Madlala

JESSICA

***

I never had cause to doubt her

Her smile could open gates

Dress crabs, light fires and keep me warm at night

She smelled of sandalwood it seemed to me

Certainly some natural spice, warm and tasty

It was her natural way that was charming

While innocent, she knew the ways to please

***

Never at a loss for humour, she giggled like a drain

Her smile could lift the darkest mountains

and throw them wholesale into the sea

She could paddle a dugout and spear a big-eyed Tuna

Catch a Spotted Grunter and bake its delicious white flesh

On the briefest, cutest  barbecue you ever did see

That she built of twigs and dried leaves so carefully

***

She would listen to me for hours and hours patiently

Her smile melted frozen rivers that never reach the seA

She was always more than a woman to me

But when the Bulls Eye Squall came that day

Or any other, not like any other, my handsome brother

Jessica herself took off and was gone

and she took the plaited shawl I gave her

***

       writtenbyedenbray20.03.2018

***

#Authors Note : This Poem concerns an ongoing theme that has fascinated me ever since I saw the 2nd Film Portrayal of Mutiny On The Bounty, the 1960’s blockbuster starring Marlon Brando as Fletcher Christian who leads a mutiny of seamen against the austere and cruel Captaincy of Captain William Bligh The mutineers run their ship aground just off-shore to a paradise Island of Tahiti where Christian meets and falls in love with the Chiefs daughter. The film poses some interesting questions around cross-cultural and mixed-race relationships. Questions challenged in an earlier piece I wrote entitled Herdy Praeshen

https://edenbray.wordpress.com/2011/03/22/147/

This Poem takes up the same theme of that earlier, slightly heavier and more serious short story and presents it in this fun, lighter edition. Hope you enjoy! edenbraytoday

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OUR WORLD SO SICK!

Posted on May 9, 2020 by

OUR WORLD SO SICK!

…   …   …

FB_IMG_1587821917368

…   …   …

I took a walk today down where the buzzards play

Drifting in and out of the fuzzy clouds golden grey

And the truth they say is all around you,

thinking about it blinds you

Theres always someone to tell you what you ought to know

…

Shadowed bundles of grass stacked up in a corner of a field

The sun in my eyes consistently strong is orange, out of range

Not everything in our world is sick and sad, dying and strange

Field grasses laid out in rows are green and the river is brown

…

On the day I decided to write it all down

the disharmony

In a paper book with an elastic band and a few damp pages

I’ve taken to crying a lot lately but it could just be the jar

Or the curtains that wont hang together when its dark

…

It was an old, mottled, reddish-brown pen, with a golden clip

Like my grandfather would have carried in his inside pocket

Filled from a bottle of blue-black with a rubber topped stopper

The short, tainted lever was hard to pull, stuck fast in its casing

…

I’m fond of old people they carry our history in a khaki back-pack

Living out their salad days, they tell us stories in different ways

Our world so sick and sad right now is not dying,

Sick like a sailors parrot

There were two buzzards circling above the path where I walked today

…

I finally got to write it down on the plain, wetted paper

The sun had gone in and the ink ran in the warp and the woof

By this time things like that didn’t seem so important anymore

Not as important as old people dying, not important like that

.

writtenbyedenbray07.05.2020

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…

sailors parrot

sick like a sailors parrot

 

.

.

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 46 – she was

Posted on May 9, 2020 by

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

She was …

she was 2

She was

Caught between two schools, or stools,

Of thought and age, of custom and practice,

Wrested from her sex, hers and the image

Her culture and influence, shocking!

Amy’s tallow flickered in the half light

Of obscurity and fame, never to blame,

Like a candle that was losing oxygen, 

Passion, control, will or shapeless form

She was beef or mutton fat smeared

Her broken notes, her Jewish nose,

Her tumbled hair taught, ripped clothes

Scarred, branded, tossed – she cared

Her pretty breasts worn – she bared

Like her coloured voice, she hung out

In Vermillion with lace, poisoned by grace

Mounted tall those sensational legs,

Just postmen’s pegs by the trippings

And we saw her bare and rare, a rose

Poured out, champagne flute tumbling

Proud, firm, sex-full, hard and glistening

Every dry eye in the place erect, listening

Some, those haters, never tried even whistling

She broke in the wind, fermenting, barley laden

All too late, the pearls, the taxi, the applause

When laid to rest she sang Ava Maria, we cried

She was …

..

..

..                                                 writtenbyedenbray01.06.2018

..

..

she was
Proud, firm, sex-full, hard and glistening

~~~    ~~~    ~~~

#Authors Note – Edenbray promised a few fireworks, a couple of trailing, shooting stars, a lightening show, a rumble of thunder and skyrockets – yes, he promised skyrockets – a fanfare, a crescendo – in these 5 final submissions to my 2nd Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays.

This piece seeks to capture the essence, the raw appeal, the creative kernel of an exceptional, performing artist whose flirtation with life burned itself out far too early. Amy Winehouse’s talent and a tendency to drift towards her own personal dependencies constantly threw her into the limelight, like a moth that is drawn toward the light for both creative and ultimately detrimental reasons. Having grown and developed through all the hard work and those complex, creative stages, she finally reached her time to blossom and perform but it was all, far too short lived.            ~      edenbraytoday

 

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 45 – my 4 children

Posted on May 8, 2020 by

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

My Four Children

unfinished Opus

…

thor

.. .. ..          ..  ..  ..          ..  ..  ..

I wrote a play once for my 4 children

I gave them special names

to match their characters

Sarallius, Debradella,

Warrickolius, and Michelangelo

They were to be as Norsk Gods

but more than Mythical Beings

Like Shakespearian characters

in our true tale of life

Before many had even heard of Thor,

son of Odin

Larger than life,

My dear wife bore them to us both

and I loved them with the purest father’s heart

Did not possess or control them,

even when my soul it ached

I tried to give them freedom,

which is the foundation of all joy

Did not burden them

with the sins of our fathers

Although I would have fought

to the death against any

Who would disrespect or threaten them,

diminish them in any way

You keep this hidden:

the teeth of the protector,

the wolf-parent

Like an Arkhala, Bagheera or a Baloo –

You want only the best for them 

…   …   …

I never finished that tale and soon

they began to write their own

and before too long from the nest they all had flown

It always happens quicker than you want,

your greatest, nagging fear 

I tried so valiantly, gallantly to say

the things that they should hear

But somehow you never do it all, 

believing there will be time a’plenty

To say it later when that perfect moment

comes, that never does

And you’re always a little sad as you wrestle

with what’s good and bad

I long for my children to be what I’m not,

to have what I didn’t

And to be happy with nowt’,

wrapped in that purest consolation ~

Nothing can take away the prayers

a loving mother or a father prays

Those things, those matters,

those tortured cries and tears stay on 

Written in the stone, carved in heavens clouds

where they belong

And angels bear them to their maker

and sing their own special song

It is a unique joy to know you have birthed

children to this world

And for each the Loving Father has a unique ensign,

bright, bold and unfurled

…   …   …

writtenbyedenbray10.04.2018

…   …   …

#Authors Note ~ Write about what you know, they say. Its a proven key to successful writing, they say, This piece is pretty self explanatory. I wrestled with the idea of whether I should include it in my 2nd Retrospective Anthology as it is a bit raw, kind of unpolished – to my mind anyway, but the last six submissions in my ’50’ – might well include some shocks and hopefully a few pleasant surprises – There is no point in being coy as a writer – Sometimes you have to dig deep and bear your soul. As the Copystat Manager in the 24-Hour Copyshop says to Jerry Maguire, who is printing his self-revealing Memo to the Company, in the film of the same name – ‘Sometimes you have to hang your balls out there man’.

The idea is – sometimes we don’t finish things we meant to do, sentences we meant to say. This then is my Unfinished Opus in its basest human shape. This is for my kids … Sarah, Deborah, Warwick and Michael – Love you –  DaD                                         ~ edenbraytoday

 

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 44 – yes i’m sure it is vermillion

Posted on May 7, 2020 by

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

Yes, I’m Sure It Is Vermillion …

~ ~ ~

WWI 2

~ ~ ~

I had spent at least an hour in this hot mustard, salad-sun

While two small flies made circles around my sweaty head

The August corn waving tall and tidy, a yellow sea, swollen

When I found the end of a pencil and started to scribble

…

I lifted my arm to give blood to my shoulder throbbing

Staring at the sticky mess both khaki, crimson and the sun

Woken from a tortured dream, there flying a lost bird sightless

Braver than a pitman’s pony, it sang one note of surprising joy

…

Sound, a silent witness dressed in uniform still buttoned to the neck

The dazed expression of my dead friend who lay beside me quietly

I dreamed of thee dear Jenny as we lay, your left breast in my hand

That had been a better day when I lay inside you, I did not wear a glove

…

This paper in my closed hand is blotted now with a trail of palest red

Cold the breeze that made me shiver, whispers this soldier is not dead

In the foggy, bloody haze, a picture forming of colour, of fire and light

Beyond the battle-scarred high-ground, smeared in shit-brown sienna

…

Beyond these moments where I have lain with only dead people

For these past two hours, I open a box of paints, I select a palette

The stench of mud drying, nauseating & honest, the night air falling

Upon this brow, it says I cannot hope to see the morning or the tide turn

…

And Jenny in my thoughts, soft and warm, her flesh like life, not death

Here hidden in this cancer of man’s regret I daub the crimson patina

Upon this tunic, it lays heavy now a sodden wretch, thus portrait cold

Yes, I’m sure it is vermillion – that colour no nearer orange than to red

…

                                                                                               

writtenbyedenbray21.07.2018

~ ~ ~

 

WWI

We remember your life and the real death of so many. Your sad, sad demise. 

~ ~ ~

Author’s Original Note : It is the Anniversary this year of the end of the 14-18 War. The most hellish War known to modern man. I wanted to write something you could step inside & experience. I have no real idea, a few of us might have some slight idea of what dying in the trenches in that God-awful war was like. This is how I chose to visit that dreadful war in 1918 by using just a few words to describe a picture and then leave some suggested artist marks where the picture might go.

The central character of this piece is some poor boy drifting slowly into eternity’s light as the vermillion ebbs steadily from his body. Friendless and alone among the dead and dying, he remembers some sweet moments of his life and scribbles them on a scrap of bloodstained paper with the butt of a pencil he finds in his khaki, tunic, breast-pocket. He remembers the intimacy of making love to his darling Jenny and the pleasure he had in selecting colours from his paint box when painting a picture. We should always remember the best moments of our lives they may be the only consolation we have on our own deathbeds. Goodnight sweet boy with your vermillion rosy cheeks I can see you in my mind’s eye.                                                                                         edenbray ~ 24.07.2018

~ ~ ~

#Authors Extra Note : As you will see from the Authors Original Note, this poem was actually written in 2018 to commemorate the 100th Anniversary of the end of the Great War of 1914-18,

It is included in the 2nd Edenbray Retrospective to commemorate the Anniversary of V.E. Day  ~ Lest we forget the sacrifice of our British and Allied forces War Dead.

We are charged however at this time of Pandemic by the heroism of that whole World War II Generation when we consider the heroism we are seeing today within the NHS and so many other areas and so this Piece carries a double-edged sword both of #respect for that War Generation and the Battle we face today against this silent, invisible and lethal foe.

                                                                                                                              ~ edenbraytoday

~ ~ ~

PANTONE 1795 U 

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 43 – 30,000 hits UNDER THE SEA

Posted on May 6, 2020 by

 

 

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

‘30,000 HITS under the sea’

(or a certain kind of nonsense)

30,000 HITS

The writer stepped out of the boat, his boat, on 12.12.2010 and like Jesus or was it King Canute who stood and commanded the waters ‘Stop, come no further’? I walked, I swam, I sank in the flooding waters of social networking while I hastily googled – ‘How to make an ark’ –  as those very technological waters lapped around my ankles. I soon learned with 6,489 other viewers on a You-tube instructional video, posted by a guy called Norris, who lives way out-of-town near Baltimore in Maryland USA, just how easy not, making an Ark can be.

I think it is one of the crimes of the aged, who recognise supposed ‘medical loss of memory’ makes a great let-out for saying the most ill-founded, illogical and controversial nonsense. Generally, rational society forgives infants, the infirm and the elderly for errors of opinion and fact. Seniors can be razor-quick to take advantage of this and allow relevant gaps in their sentences to add weight to the notion that what they are saying, however apparently half-baked, should be given more credence due to the march of time ~ let’s not say ‘senility’ please.

Of course it was actually Jesus who walked on water, Canute who spoke to the water, unsuccessfully. It was Moses who spoke to the water – successfully and Noah who built a big, wooden boat and called it an ‘ark’.

It was, however, Captain Nemo who in many ways topped the lot by building a sea-craft, the Nautilus, that descended under the water and down to unknown depths to explore the mysteries of the deep. … relevant gap … While I assume at this point you may well indeed be unclear whether I recognise what is indeed fact or fiction, you are at least ‘hanging in’ there with me … That assumed, I may continue, fairly confident that I have managed to at least half deliver a major hoodwink to you, my dear readers.

Jules Verne imagined a genius inventor with a troubled conscience who embraced the future while repressing the past, never an easy skill and one that eventually did him no favours as he comes off in our thinking as somewhere between psychopath and megalomaniac. Without a doubt, he can be considered dangerously crazy even with hindsight and that view could not be construed overstated or a harsh social character analysis.

On the positive side, Captain Nemo embraced future technologies and sought to conquer an alien environment. Something usually admired by humankind, who hold explorers and pioneers in very good esteem. ~ i.e. – Christopher Columbus, the Wright brothers, Scott and Amundsen, David Livingstone, Uri Gagarin, Armstrong and Aldrin, Ferdinand Magellan.

When this writer stepped from his wee yoal, named the ‘Dubious Notoriety’ and into that great sea of technology’s effluence and began to float, sink, swim, flounder, he held no great pretensions other than the sincere desire to set his sail as best he could and stay afloat for at least a short while, whilst also tending to his vessel, whatever form that took, within the mainstream or possibly the wake of society’s newfound cyberspace. Nothing as grandiose as Mr Noah’s unique craft you understand or as technologically wonderful as Captain Nemo’s Nautilus but for all that, the writer felt, a certain draught of pioneer spirit attended his flow and so he ventured on and on and continues to do so by golly, bit by bit, hit by hit, blog by blog, site by site and ocean by symbolic ocean.

This week, edenbray’s original site – entitled imaginatively – edenbray

link ~ https://edenbray.wordpress.com/ – clocked up it’s 30 thousandth viewing or ‘hit’ (Blog Stats : View Top Right Corner to authenticate).

That, in a way, represents 30,000 hits under the sea. The sea of social networking that is and certainly, the equivalent of 30,000 Leagues for me, as I continue my own personal circumnavigation of the social networking Arena – just trying my damn-dest to make a name for myself ~ edenbray the writer. Maybe just a tiny bit like Sir Francis Chichester? Ellen MacArthur? and good old Ferdinand Magellan?

Ferdinand by the way, was the first one to achieve that particular feat? Now you didn’t like NOT knowing who he was ~ now did you?

writtenbyedenbray06.02.2015

#Note – By the way – I did realise the film was titled ‘20,000 Leagues’ – but hey, did you not know there was also a sequel with the predictable title ~  ‘30,000 Leagues – Under The Sea’!? –  I demand recognition!

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 42 – if truth were told

Posted on May 5, 2020 by

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

If Truth Were Told

…

the unnamed soldier

…

If truth were told

     Humankind would stand free

     Armies would surrender arms

     People freed would be

…

     Light released could filter

     Society’s ills should mend

     Our enemies might be friends

     And prison bars would open

…

If truth were told

     Children’s hearts gentle

     Men’s hearts fixed

     And women laugh with glee

…

If truth were told

     A smile would be sincere

     A word, an embrace

     A kiss, a promise

…

If truth were told

          People freed would be

…

writtenbyedenbray28.10.89

…

#Authors Revised – Original Note :  A poem I wrote over 30 years ago and published here for the 2nd time. The object of this piece should be clear. Straight talking honesty – candid and sometimes really painful would have a dramatic, maybe a traumatic effect on society and the world at large but ‘true-truth’* is a lot different to plain, raw honesty which can be ugly and cruel. – True-truth is pure – it is intrinsic, wholesome and quite honestly, pretty unimaginable within a society setting, especially today and probably at any time, however, if it were practiced by all it would indeed create a veritable utopia, right here on earth. I actually wrote this piece from a different personal standpoint and of course at a different time but the message is still relevant if also rhetorical and so I include it in my 2nd Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays.

                                                                                                                         edenbraytoday

~ **’You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one’ ..

Bibliography .. .  Picture Plate – ‘The Unknown Soldier’  – SeeD – edenbray ~ 1980 ~

*Francis Shaeffer ~ True Spirituality ~

**John Lennon – Lyrics to Imagine

 

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