Originally posted on April 10, 2011 ~ Written 30.06.90 ~ Revised 10.04.2011




☀    ☀

Melior, the strange creature

stumbled toward him

in a blind and ashen fit

he frothed and tore at him

with blind rage and anger

he was lost in an uncontrollable frenzy.

☀  ☀  ☀

Faren caught the strange terror

by his mane and flinging him madly

against the hard stone floor

he drew the glinting rapier from it’s scabbard

and with a cry as clear and hearty as he could muster

threw himself upon the strange animal

and buried the stinging steel

between its breasts.

☼    ☼

Melior convulsed and tore again

with giant hairy paws

reaching vainly at Farens throat

his grey and scaly tail

lashed in a wild circle

but his assailant caught him

a severe blow to the temple

with a mailed fist.


For the first time Melior

uttered a vocal sound,

a terrified cry as the

rapier swung mercilessly

removing a large patch

of his grey spongy flesh

and causing an ooze

which ran with an acrid odour

down his terrified face,

his movements now involuntary

strange, garbled, choking noises

and a wild strangled sobbing

as he writhed violently.

☼  ☼  

The noises abated

the stench now sickening

a final staggered, spasmic reaction

then Melior gasped no more…

Who took the sun

and made a hole in the sky?

Who dressed and cloaked

in dark clouds stole forth

in the daylight and plundered the earth?

Whose murky thoughts invaded

more than a single generation?

Whose evil countenance smiled

and silenced loves sweet

moments for a long hour?

☀    ☀

Meliors thunder was fierce

his lightening a sharp tongue

that lashed and flailed

His anguish a bitter poultice

for the misery born in his heart

and many born old and dying.

Melior, grey and pale

starved of suns warmth

and again roasted black

by suns fiercest rays

outcast and jeolous

his night knew no end.

☀  ☀  ☀

Faren, stood a victor unvanquished

but saddened by the

misery of the battle

with the great grey Melior

now a cold heap lying

who had been a champion

a darkened prince

his latest form now relieved of terror

which seemed to relax

as a rose hue falling

from this evening light

washed over Farens haggard frame

almost bringing to him

the joy of early, regal youth.


Faren knew oh so keenly

the hopeless pain Melior had born

but the gas that now reeked the air

causing even the ground

upon he lay to stain

was indeed the final admission

that Meliors very life had been evil

and as he walked from the scene

his weapon lying spent

beside its final purpose

a calm and special moment grew.

☀    ☀

Farens’ face now caught

the light of the evening sky

it threw a strange colour

an aura around him,

a sky green that drew gold

his eyes still lowered

out of some greater respect

for the many sad tales

this night preceded.


Faren walked toward a turquoise haze

sheltered green by a grassy bank

and as he walked

the dark dreams fell from him like shadows.

He passed through them

his head lifting imperceptibly to the light

while it seemed that figures were appearing

not individuals admiring

more, triumphant armies adoring

as a gentle hollow horn blew

and gained momentum

stirring both sense and emotion

the gathered clans assembling

of every righteous battle won.

☀  ☀  ☀

Now Faren seemed to bear a scar

and every victors garland hung

to his neck most gracious.

He was now adorned royal

and to the horn could now be heard

an anthem quire singing

sweet pain it drew easy.

Farens’ temples bathed in golden light

now held firm and honoured

a gentleness distilled

his eyes softened grey set

lifted the many noble

champions to see.

 ☼  ☼

Gold and silver lined the crowds

a magical dawn, a living allegory

a famed tale, an open hand

as now hung the herald shields

polished bright and glorious

now stored the arms of battle

now formed these soft, sweet words

of memories past when pain had been real

and blood the currency of decision

when the terror of Melior a fabled dragon

may be writ or sung

and the error of the story enormous.

☀    ☀

Now sing the birds

not mourn the wound of creation

Now dance the maidens

not swear the curse of youth

Now laugh the ancients

the eternal children

Now skip the young men

not shame the burden of honour

the bracelet of respect.

Faren’s peoples joy

the uninhibited spectacle

this celebratory feast

this betrothal ceremony

it has begun and never, never would it end.

☼  ☀  ☼







dragons head


#Authors Note ~ BALADINS DREAM : This was actually the 1st published part of a long, unending Collection of Prose – prepared under the theme – Baladin’s Dream – Baladin – a sage, a prophet, a mystic, a mythical and spiritual visitor to various places on our planet and possibly on others also, who, in his latter years recounts from his vast memories of life & experience – both tragedy and joy – either true or imagined, in a rambling tome of memoirs, recollections, supposed wisdom and biographical insights ~ A Dream ~ THE ‘DREAM OF BALADIN’ – The Many Parts of this DREAM take on various poses, are noted at differing times, deal with different facets of human experience and fantasy that can occur within various cultural settings that may suggest Baladin has kind of – always been with us observing life and death from his own wisdom and unique perspective – Join the Dream and you will no doubt be enriched, enthused, enlightened, even en-wisened!?! – edenbray 14.11..19

#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!


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Originally posted on March 22, 2011 ~ a fable written by edenbray pre – 2010

Herdy Praeschen had the widest shoulders I had seen on a woman. Her forehead was also wide and deep like a panel on an automobile, a truck. Her deep, dark and rounded eyes were set above high cheekbones stained with a caramel coloured paint. She had a lean, angular nose which descended and broadened to full, flattened nostrils. The wide, generous lips of true feminine health completed the tragic beauty of her face adorned with two white circles, perfectly painted roundels, one on each cheek.

She wore her two breasts like loaded panniers and seemed to invite you to view them by her proud, unashamed posture. Everything about Herdy was to be seen. Her dark sienna skin, her long, lean, slightly bowed legs, muscular slender arms, tapering fingers. The chocolate-brown bush of her crotch, standing out like the hair on her head which completed a ring around her head.

‘What is your name?’ I asked, to answer her challenging pose.

After she had replied, she asked my name also.

‘David Store’ I replied.

‘The trouble is,’ I said ‘the sight of a naked woman always excites me.’

Herdy Praeschen drew your soul like a priest at a confessional.

‘Of course,’ she replied, ‘and do you suppose it is different for a woman, if she were to see a desirable man?’

I searched her body to see if she wore any kind of jewellery. Any ring or necklace, a hair slide but there was nothing. She was indeed completely naked.

‘Well no’ I replied at last.

‘It is only the arrogance of a man who would suppose a naked woman is offering herself to him. A woman would not assume a naked man would want to take her. She would ask herself, ‘Does this man desire me?’ or maybe ‘How can I make this man desire me?”

‘Well I’m not sure if that is right’, I found myself responding. ‘Do not women accept men they do not desire?’


Herdy now spoke with a certain authority and it seemed the experience of women down through the ages. She spoke with the fewest well-chosen words. She continued.

‘Unless, of course she has been violated in some way and lost her joy of life, then she might. Or maybe to get something else that she wants but then she would be a prostitute. Whoever heard of a woman raping a man?’

‘No, I haven’t heard of it but I am sure it must have happened,’ I stuttered.

‘You are young and very naive Monsieur.

Think about it. How could a woman rape a man?’

Herdys’ smile as she cocked her head to one side begged the question.

‘You see? The woman must always make the man desire her, capiche? Do you understand? A woman may not dominate a man in that way. Only by seduction. You see this is why women are more subtle than men.

You turn the switch on. You turn the switch off.

A woman must use all her charms to make a man love her.’

‘I cannot quite see it that way,’ I answered her with due consideration.

‘That would suggest a man never uses charm, never uses subtilty, just takes what he wants.’

‘Yes, a sort of subtilty I suppose but a man need only do half the job, if that. A woman must convince the man, seduce the man, arouse the man.

Unless she has lost her joy of life or she is drunk.’

‘Surely it is the same with men Mademoiselle.’

‘Oh I can see you are just a stubborn male and so if I said to you now, we could make love, you would say?…’

‘I would say, sure, that would be fine.’

’But Monsieur, I do not desire you.’

‘Then why are you suggesting it to me Mademoiselle?’

‘I was being hypothetical Monsieur! You would make love to me because I excite you but now suppose I do not excite you. Would you make love to me then?’

‘Yes, I might still, just to relieve the boredom.’

‘If I were ugly, deformed, scarred, would I excite you? Would you make love to me then?’ Herdy spoke with fervour and passion. It made her breasts bounce delightfully. “Would you make love to me then Monsieur?’

‘No, probably not.’ I stuttered.

‘But Monsieur if I found a way to excite you, for you to love me even while I was ugly, deformed or scarred?’

‘Oh, I don’t know where this is leading Mademoiselle.’

‘Well most men are just bastardo’s anyway and would fuck a sheep if they needed to.’ With that Herdy turned away slightly, revealing her best profile.

‘Can we talk of something else Mademoiselle? Perhaps we could find you some clothes and then I would not be so excited by you.’

‘Maybe not, maybe so? Then, what else would you prefer to talk of?’

‘Well, nothing really…. I enjoy talking to you like this Mademoiselle.’

‘Is it stimulating to you? Does it arouse you Monsieur?

‘Yes Mademoiselle it is very stimulating, very arousing!’

‘Then you will need to go somewhere with your hand,’ Herdy motioned with a clasped hand.

‘You can do the job for yourself then, because I am not to be yours Monsieur because I do not desire you.’

‘Then you are the worst kind of woman Mademoiselle. You are just a tease and a frustration.’

Herdy stood proudly against the setting sun as though before a mirror. She exuded a self-possession and inner grace I found totally captivating. She began to smile a warm, happy smile that grew into a laugh. She was laughing now a curious laugh with a giggle in it that made her seem much younger; more now like a girl rather than a woman.

‘And so, your argument switches now to insults because you cannot have what you want. You cannot have your way with me. Because Monsieur you have no control, no subtilty, no charm. Your frustration is my fault. I am just a big tease and a frustration, nothing more. Although I have not encouraged you or seduced you or even spoken kindly to you, just polite Monsieur, always polite. I have just stood before you naked.’

‘Yes Mademoiselle, naked and that is why you are a tease.’

‘Monsieur, we began our formalities with your admission that your problem is that the sight of a naked woman always excites you.’

Herdy Praeschen leaned back and sighed. With that she turned slowly and began to walk away. Her lean muscular back and buttocks faintly glistening and her perfect outline caught as a dark silhouette against the evening sunshine.

She quickened her walking pace as though to break into a sprint as the silence of the moment was now broken by my urgent call, resounding of the purple hills to the east.

‘Oh don’t go Herdy! Don’t go, I want to talk. I’m sorry!

Herdy, don’t go, I need to talk to you!’

But she had broken into a bounding long step, as graceful as any Impala and I could only watch in awe as this champion of female grace and power zeroed slowly from my sight.

I have since considered my all to brief interview with the beautiful Herdy Praeschen.

I had now met at least met one woman truly worthy of that description.

I have debated and considered my conversation with her on that strange and fortunate day. How might I have shown the subtilty she spoke of when she drew my words from me like a poultice might draw poison?

How might I have kept her in my gaze and charmed her as she suggested only women can?

How might I have turned her thoughts as mine were by her naked form? Should I have thrown off shirt and shorts and stood before her, as she to me, we then like two Cheetahs on heat? Should I have trusted my body and not my words and my flawed arguments?

No, Herdy was so right and I must and have, learned to live with that.

My only recompense was my fifteen/twenty minutes with her, the sight of her fabulous body. Her words, like sweet honey from a rock and in that short time with her, the fact that she taught me so much about women. About being a woman, loving like a woman and what it must be to feel like a woman.

The sun was beginning to sink as Herdy Praeschen walked into our camp and I alone was there to greet her. The sun was disappearing behind the few Baobab trees to the west as she bounded from my sight. I never saw or spoke to her again.\



#Authors note ~ in this essay or short storyI have tried to reflect the different male/female philosophies of the age old man/woman problem and debate.. not to be controversial or erotic but just to tell a tale in a modern way.. an honest tale.. it is meant to leave the reader asking loads of questions about the story, location, characters and their own ideas on sexuality, morality, faithfulness and other issues.. where is the story set, who are the characters, what nationality, what are they doing?. it is a fable.. hopefully, a pastiche of unsettling uncertainties that might help us to think about being free of stereotypical responces and question our own raw feelings and attitude to the opposite sex.. to get back to the joy of who we really are.. in this way i hope it does reflect a certain positive spirituality that the reader might recognise. edenbray


#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry

– part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!


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Originally written and posted, February 18, 2011


I have always luvved you

at Freiston Shore

I luvved you more




#NOTE ~ I suppose I have always been intrigued and fascinated by artists, writers, musicians, comedians or just friends who are able to capture the surreal side of life and comment using either the bizarre, the fantastic or surprising means. From Andy Warhol to Salvador Dali, Frank Zappa, Steve Martin, Hieronymus Bosch, Bonzo Dog, Tony Hancock, Chevy Chase, Monty Python, Woody Allen, Jack Black, Escher, Picasso, Radiohead, Gerald Scarfe. Any of those and many, many more who are able to describe the ironies of life with humour or intelligence are worth their weight in elephant dung … … … or gold!?

In the 60’s I dabbled with hallucinogenic drugs taking LSD on several occasions which I used to regret but the older I get the more I endorse the effects those experiments had in opening my mind and erasing so much stereotypical conditioning from my young brain and gathered while growing up in post-War Britain – so much clutter! I see those moments now as ‘positive’, like a rebooting of my conscious intelligence and the reason that now I am able to observe and understand things that I’m sure would distress me even more had I never experienced what you might call my Timothy Leary moments of exploration, experience and discovery – so, there it is – a very long introduction to a very short poetic idea –

PROG-PROSE is kind of my idea (can’t believe no one has used it before but hey I’ll be a gold-digger – I’ll be a 49er – I’ll register my claim here and now – PROG-PROSE is mine – do you hear me – m.i.n.e ! All mine and you heard it here folks)  

This poem and photo sees the birth of KUDU and subsequently KUDU-MAgAZiNEK=D= More to follow on that one – a baby kudu, a daddy kudu and the most fantastic of all earthly creatures .- the OKAPI – I believe this creature to be up there with the Unicorn, Pegasus and the Centaur – a truly mythological, fantastic creature that certainly commands my sense of the absurd and confirms my belief there is a creator!

– Indeed an Unlikely Threesome – deal with it! – Edenbray – 11.11.19 – 111119 – Magical! 

#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!

KuDu-MAgAZINE : fOllOW LINK tO thE ARtS pAGe I rUn HosTEd bY KuDu – KUdU is nOT onLy thE THe KiNG oF aNTElOPes – HE wANdeRS tHe stReeTS oF gREAt bRiTaiN aS an OrgANIc ObsErvoR oF thE woRLd WE lIVe in wITH hIS moST uniQUe pErsPeCtiVE! >>> LiNK >> https://edenbraybray.wordpress.com/2017/09/18/robots-serve-my-cornflakes/


A hallucinogen is a psychoactive agent which most likely causes hallucinations, perceptual anomalies, and other substantial subjective changes in thoughts, emotion, and consciousness. The common types of hallucinogens are psychedelics, dissociatives and deliriants. Wikipedia



Hieronymus Bosch

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Originally posted on February 19, 2011 – written 08.08.1987



The grey dawn mist of apples,

peering fresh, soaked, dew-lined and hearty

A mothers smile and fawns caress,

Limpid the water on the edge of time

I am humid, fervent, sweat-soaked and languid,

Washed by endless rivers of night

We jump like so many crazy locusts on electric wire,

Full, bound by every impulse

A night-hawks curr, the rush of blood to wounded scars

and bleeding wounds

Far into the night many moons,

hence the comets scare the starlings coal wings

A broken pencil, a fainting moment

and two antlers locked in boardroom crash

I am aware of all this as the derricks roar softly

and the sounds of lead mend in the night sky

Pity the saints who trod in firstborn purity,

only finding cave-worn habits and hostility

I am a moment, a flit, and birds beat of wing,

I am sound as I lay softly in pillow’s heart




#NOTE ~ I wrote this poem in 1987 when I was 36 years old. I think I was in touch with my feminine side. – Edenbray


#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!
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Originally posted on February 22, 2011 – written 22.12.1988

Rate This

I am a scientist, marine biologist,

Discoverer of planets, stretching to new horizons,

Breaking the mould that grips me with octopus grasp.

One thing for certain, I am no poet,

No visionary, no rhymer of rhymes,

As I play with words, like a child with Lego,

Forming and fitting bits together,

Hard fact, grand supposition and mellow illusion.

These all twist and embrace, copulate like lusting insects,

I watch animated, involved, unafraid, unashamed,

As these angular forms, patterns, grow.

Divesting, releasing, exciting.

Imagination is my first primeval gift,

My right to use and enjoy.

Why play on the edge of experience and temptation?

When one may wallow, indulge in the centre of delights.




#NOTE – I think this poem I wrote at a very different time and at a very different socio/economic point in western-world history, subsequently it might be considered slightly dated but I believe it certainly still has merit. It should definitely have been sub-titled ‘STATING THE BLOODY OBVIOUS’ I feel but perhaps I was too polite in them days.

#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!



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A short comment essay

I know it’s a popular idiom these days. Become a bit of a cliché – ‘I’m a glass half empty sort of person’ and all that psychobabble but setting all that claptrap aside. I seem to have been dogged by people’s negative attitudes all my life and don’t it get you down? Nothings gonna empty your half glass quicker than a dose of negative pessimism and for me it centres on the preoccupation we have with filing. People love to put things in boxes, labelled boxes and then run the events of life, the people they meet, the situations encountered, whether good, bad, dramatic or surprising through a sieve labelled ‘MY PREJUDICED AND CONSIDERED VIEWPOINT’.

How many people have you met who truly try to keep an open mind when meeting life, people or events? We limit our perceptions to pre-judged, predefined conclusions.

Well I’m sorry to sound superior, arrogant or of an inflated self-importance but I don’t pre-judge and I make it a discipline not to label things, people or situations.

Every now and again however I admit, I lose that healthy mental ‘glow’ and succumb to rounding on anything, anyone and any situation that holds the smallest worm of negativity. Anything that’s not bright, full of promise or all-embracing I hate. Any viewpoint that is closeted, bigoted, xenophobic, myopic and rooted in tradition or what I call ‘ugly’ religion I reject and totally avoid any confrontation or dalliance with.

This makes me wonder are the negative Nellie’s and pessimistic Peter’s just people with a really great attitude who are just fed up meeting people with negative attitudes?




This Essay posted as part of an #Edenbray retrospective and re-posted today for a new generation!


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hyacinth tatoo g


I would never have put this out, so seemingly strangely

It took me over like a whirlwind over Polynesian islands

The absence of joy somehow only increases our paranoia

The deep hurts we carry become more the trials of each day

The mountain higher, the road longer, in search of your smile

And Hyacinth, so pretty though her voice is cracked & broken

Her white teeth describing sallow cheeks, both dusky and brown


We all invest in princes, knights, saints, it is our common plan,

We light our fires & raise a glass to a statue of the common man

The civilisation of masses leaves the albatross alone to wander

Humility so lost to the children of techno where megabyte rules

And bandaids became a solitary punctuation of our compassion

Where once knelt nuns, friars surrendered to the hope of heaven

Hyacinth Maharajh ~ just a distant recall on a lonely mountain 





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Originally posted on 

Pressed hard against the midnight sky
A crescent moon, a pleasant face
A mountain of blue feelings
A grey apple, bitten and luscious
Long mascara eyelashes, a fringed frame
The whisper of wind and the solitude of a happy hello
Hazy sunset, lemon clouds and orange the magnet
to our hopes, dreams and fears
Hold me hard and long, I will not escape
I cannot stray, I am forbidden cunning
This is my rendezvous, my premiere
and the gaslight flickers on me
The amber glow a welcome mat
Yes, give me this excuse to rewrite the tale
and the night prussian and neutral
Will like a playlet backdrop
Capture your advance and clap me
with a motion reprise



I originally wrote this piece on the theme of acceptance in 1990.
People generally find it very hard to accept people as they are
without first imposing conditions, classifications and judgmental views
based on their personal observations and conclusions built up from life’s experiences, what we commonly refer to as ‘dogma’ and yet we all long to be accepted, to ‘belong’ and be ‘accepted’ for who we are… .    edenbray 


#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!


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a pome


love, sweet and sensitive,





Not pall, not mixed,

not arranged,



Love needed, love desired,

Love given, love admired,

Love wanted, love received,

Full of energy, never tired,

This friend, this power, this endless aid,

This companion to the end.





I used to write a lot of poetry.

I’m not sure when I stopped writing poetry but it feels like it was 9/11 or some other sad experience that silenced the voice within me that had commentated on my life’s experiences since I was about 15 years of age and around 1966. I hope that this blog will become as important as the numerous notebooks and pads I have previously inscribed stuff in and used to write in.

Eden Bray is born ugly, ill formed, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions. This effluence is the experience of my short life and all I have as reference. Eden Bray will not apologise for this but may in time win your heart and soul. Entrance you, entertain you, amuse you, admonish you, shock you or make you cry. Please god he will not be a gigantic bore and send you off to sleep but then even this may have merit.

Ciou – eb 27.05.1990


#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation! 

.. https://edenbray.wordpress.com/2010/12/12/not-arranged/

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From my sister BLOG – Edenbray – my latest POEM – please like and leave comments if you do!


Olde Mann



Banyanamin’s reign – the oil ran sweetly on this, his Holy isle’s embrace

Adorned as if with golden crown – of sweat and bone and fur and entrance

Candid skies, circle of morning grey neath both tha’ bronzed n’broiled long hae’ther 

Such starlight eyes, so burning sentinels within any weather bruised nor fine

Grizzled, matted and thick locked-hair hangs, sweet rabbit-pelts on a poachers pole

This prince, championed by his sternest stare, snorts and swallows purest air

Haunches bowed, the neck, the sinews set, the collar, adorned this chosen parapet 

As if the day were born in summer-sun be bears against the cold, ash-broken night

Purveys a scene of longest sight, to stamp, to wrestle, then to shout his hollow roar 

Of beasts ancient, memories found, not caged or bound – the wolf, the bear, the boar

And Beowulf, vacant ghost of lands, rocks and nature’s grist…

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