jenny in heels 1

.   .   .


.   .   .

She trips by me
a hazel gem
finity of beauty
among good things
that dwell, softly, gently

Dark pupil, brown eye
a fawn pebble
tiny in her sincerity
deft is her dexterity
on stilts, as heels

Hers is speed
endeavour golden
bronzed ambition
rushing water
and mountain spray

Sweet notes
are heard of her
her construction
her legs design
tis’ sheer perfection

She pretty as
a summer sketch
eyes as crystal water
natures dancing elf
sweet Jenny Wren

                                                                                     © edenbraytoday26.02,2021

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Epiphany with Carl Jung and a mere Rabbit

…  …   …

I sat beside that old and weary cherry tree

Gnarled and leaning like a drunken man

Put my sorry life into some sort of perspective

There is no gain in self condemnation only revival


I have rubbed my hands in the course dirt so long

I had learned to sense flowers buried in the shit

The crap, where horses do leap and look poetic

Like a women’s breast is charming, her skin so soft


I walked for miles without learning much at all

The only thing we learn is the best way to stay silent

I catch myself sometimes when I’m saying too much

The goddam illusion is broken and the rabbits out


I have to say things though just to stay alive

Otherwise might as well be dead in the dust

Cain’t all be Carl Jung, I know, I do pick on that fellar

And he does have a contented look, like pink salt


Therapy, if I could even afford it might be the answer

Or maybe just to get down on my sore, sorry knees

Say a prayer to God, whoever he or she may be

Wonder what he’d say about that? – Carl Jung!



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4 and 20 – WERE YOU ALONE?

4 and 20 – Were You Alone?

4 and 20 – WERE YOU ALONE?


4 and 20 – were you alone?
did you moan?
when they beat you with sticks
did it make you feel sick?

Did their dirty white faces
greedy and cold
did they hurt you a lot
when they broke your bones?

I hate the white man
almost as much as you did
when he murdered your child
when the bluecoats went wild

Massacred your brides
hate is hateful
why do people hate?
why do people behave like savages?

Genocide, Holocaust, Nuclear explosion
murder in your beds
napalm, cannon fire, beat the drum
gattling gun, bayonets fixed, run them in

Inhumanity is a devil word
and you were just one black bird
one beauty in the forest
with yellow beak and gentle ways

I made a friend of a blackbird once
she fed around my chair
she collected food for a clutch of three
a clutch of five, a clutch of five

Again she raised a clutch of three
then finally a clutch of seven!
that bird should now be in heaven
I loved that bird to watch her work

I loved the little native girl
the child brides of the indigenous American
the boys and girls in striped pyjamas
the families of the Vietnamese and Japanese

4 and 20, thousand, million, humbled
slaughtered, their daughters and their sons
murder most foul, we put them in the earth
left the dead to bury the dead

The scorched, bloody earth
where blackbirds fed
and carried food back to their nest
the warm nest and the loving home

© edenbraytoday19.02.2021

Posted in edenbray OPINION, edenbray POMES | 4 Comments


Afternoon Nip With The Boss

I sat down with Hemmingway
bottle of pop
bottle of scotch
American rye

I wrote a balad, he tore it up
handed me
French wine
in an enamel cup

War leaves limbs hanging
that’s a metaphor
the clay mud clinging
wine is better from a tin cup

If there was a candle burning
I didn’t see it
I felt it though and
the rancid smell of hot wax

I found this rough, hewn tree stump
and a soldiers blood
melded with the mud
O’ honour isn’t brave

Regret is braver than a running horse
the coloured horse
I clambered on his war-torn back
braver was the thought (I now know)

I sat down in earnest
a widow’s dowry
a night out on the tiles
inspiration comes so slowly

I wrote my life in verse
it did not amount to much
reached out for St Jerome’s touch
held a Picasso favoured brush

Ellegy and allegory join the story
try to rob a soldier’s honest tale
injest a private’s morning glory
tantamount to grieving

Lifeblood and stirring passion
the partizan and the cause
her dark eyes
bodies left dead on the gauze

We talked until 3 twas
too dark to see clearly
my eyelids growing weary
so I dressed it up with butter

The lifeblood draining
looking for a morning star
and Hemmingway caught up
the afternoon had sworn

Mutiny in the French quarter
his fist clenched
he shouted at me
be a man, you klutz

The streets of shame
fights break out
in the early morning light
I’m tight like a street bum

The partizans are coming
real men with blood
and Hemmingway is shimmering
like gold covered in mud

Can’t write, don’t write
If you do make sure its you
not the devil’s daughter
not what does not matter

No matter what
what, does not matter!
only feelings make us human
only thoughts and life and feeling

© edenbraytoday 15.02.2021

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I Wanna Be Loved





I wanna be loved with inspiration
I wanna be loved starting tonight
Instead of merely holding conversation
Hold me tight
I wanna be kissed until i tingle
I wanna be kissed starting tonight
Embrace until our heartbeats intermingle
Wrong or right
I feel like acting my age
I’m past the stage of merely turtledoving
(Be careful, be careful what you do)
I’m in no mood to resist
And i insist the world owes me a loving
I wanna be thrilled to desperation
I wanna be thrilled starting tonight
(Love me, love me, love me)
With every kind of wonderful sensation
I wanna be loved
I feel like acting my age
I’m past the stage of merely turtledoving
I’m in no mood to resist
And i insist the world owes me a loving
I wanna be thrilled to desperation
I wanna be thrilled starting tonight
With every kind of wonderful sensation
I wanna be loved

As a special treat for Valentines Day I am posting another in my Guest Poems Series. A 1950 song written by a Heyman Green for Dinah Washington. Great stuff! enjoy! – edenbray 14.02,2021

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Lightnin’ Strike .. .


lightnin strike

decorating, above the cupboards on my wall I find my inspiration – paint streak – lightnin’ speak


Braver, we are not
    when words flash, draw our hurt
    I need to be alone
I was never ever reasonable
    not on a Tuesday
    or any day with a why in it
I reach for my bottle of amber glory
    wish that I still smoked
Turn to my sounds with no words
    watch those black birds out on the wire
    wait for this thunder to be over.


                                                                                 © edenbraytoday22.01.2020

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I’ve heard that thud before
    that thud on the floor
And then a dog barking so I forgot
  so many things to do
      but I haven’t really

Abstract thoughts line up
    like pegs in your mind
Hang out the washing
    mop the floor, what was that thing
        that dropped on the floor?

Hang on, I haven’t eaten 
    anything, wait 
I’m having one of those days
    I’ll take my pills, my life is
          filled with so many thrills

That dog is barking again
    Its no life when your kept in a pen
I’ll write about this later
    because it reminds me of me
          again, I am feeling all at sea

After the lunch break
    I’ll go for a walk
Out to the backwoods
    and I’ll hunt for that hawk
        he often comes to my aid

Back from those magical woods 
    Tall Scots pine and gorse
In Tuny’s field I saw the black horse
    I head through my hallway, always
        best way when nature calls

So there it sits on the mat
    been lying there all day
and I’ve been too busy to open it up
    my first book of poems, at last
        a first stroke of literary luck!

                                                © edenebraytoday15.01.2020

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‘Street Courage’


I first saw him standing on a street corner

opposite the coffee shop

I heard him singing words I’d heard before

that made me stop

In my tracks and the hairs on my neck stood up 

‘Little boxes made out of ticky tacky’

that’s what I need to hear

Dropped a shilling in his cup

wished I could a’ bought him a beer

A cup of cheer for the singer on the corner

on a cold day in Boston town 

On a new years day with virus all around

a virus that’s brought the people down


So I bought some coffees

to take down to the park

Past the corner where he stood

before it gets too dark

The singer he was tuneful, played his guitar so well

A songbird in Boston singing songs

I hadn’t heard for years

These songs made perfect sense to me

songs to dispel your fears

So I spoke to the street singer

took his picture there and then

Said If I wrote some verses out

did he have a card where I could send?


Street singer plying his trade in all weathers

singing for coin out in the cold

On a damp winters day, the street singer

had something bright to say

Singing songs of life and meaning out in this circus

Of life and liberty that’s falling down

around our ankles around our knees

While we wrestle and we worry

over this goddamn disease

Just a moment Master Pessimist the candlemakers son

light a candle on the street

For this troubadour with a wood guitar

is still standing on his feet!


a bit of a ditty for my mate Josh Robins



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When I Paint My Masterpiece




Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble
Ancient footprints are everywhere
You can almost think that you’re seein’ double
On a cold, dark night on the Spanish Stairs
Got to hurry on back to my hotel room
Where I’ve got me a date with Botticelli’s niece
She promised that she’d be right there with me
When I paint my masterpiece

Oh, the hours I’ve spent inside the Coliseum
Dodging lions and wastin’ time
Oh, those mighty kings of the jungle, I could hardly stand to see ’em
Yes, it sure has been a long, hard climb
Train wheels runnin’ through the back of my memory
When I ran on the hilltop following a pack of wild geese
Someday, everything is gonna be smooth like a rhapsody
When I paint my masterpiece

Sailin’ round the world in a dirty gondola
Oh, to be back in the land of Coca-Cola!

I left Rome and landed in Brussels
On a plane ride so bumpy that I almost cried
Clergymen in uniform and young girls pullin’ muscles
Everyone was there to greet me when I stepped inside
Newspapermen eating candy
Had to be held down by big police
Someday, everything is gonna be diff’rent
When I paint my masterpiece

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I started writing when I was nineteen but that’s a lie

The child became a man when he had learned to cry

If I was nineteen today I might just long to die

\.. .


Sixteen, fourteen, my father broke my heart

Compulsion is not something your taught, he tore my heart apart

You learn to listen, you yearn to find your place, you learn to lie

\.. .


Where are the fathers, off playing games?

Just being there is a duty, a boy becomes a man, a man becomes a rock

If I was fourteen today and my father went away?

\.. .


I started writing when I was fifteen and that’s the truth

I met a man once called Alan, my truest, better self

A sturdy guy who wore a tie, he taught me all I know

.. .


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