TALES of the SWAN-DYKE ~ 1 – THE SENTINEL

COVER - TALES OF SWANDYKE

TALES of the SWAN-DYKE ~ 1 – THE SENTINEL

To celebrate the launch of my 2nd self-published booklet of 11 diverse poems and essays entitled : TALES of the SWAN-DYKE along with Illustrations and Authors Notes – I am happy to offer a signed, printed hard-copy for just £5 inc. post/packing for orders within the United Kingdom and £6.50 inc. shipping for orders outside the UK ! 

I wrote these poems and 1 essay during my COVID-19 isolation and over nearly 4 months

#NOTE ~ please email ME AT:-

stepheneede689@btinternet.com

Alternatively you can post a comment in the comments box at the foot of this page and I will forward details of how to make payment ~ PLEASE include your name and the address where you would like the printed copy to be sent + PLUS indicate if it is to be a gift.

Many thanks                                                                                  ~ edenbray

TO Celebrate this occasion I am re-posting all eleven parts – starting today with The Sentinel which has been viewed in nearly 100 countries

Foreward to the Publication

In March 2020 at the recommendation of the British Governments Scientific Health Advisers I entered a period of isolation as a ‘shielding’ measure due to my previous and ongoing health issues and to avoid the threat of Covid-19, a dangerous strain of Coronavirus which attacks the respiratory system, especially of older and susceptible, clinically vulnerable persons. The full total of Covid-related deaths will not become clear for some while but it is already huge on a world-wide scale. This pamphlet of verse and writings came out of that period of isolation.

Most of the writings were composed from notes made during daily, long, walks I made in the fields at the rear of our home in Lincolnshire with either Ruth, my wife or on my own. These writings reflect wider concerns over the pandemic itself, national issues that developed during this period such as BLM but also very real and more personal matters concerning growing old, loneliness, our future – plus mental and physical health worries.

This selection from the poignant ‘This World So Sad’ to the more comedic ‘Predestination’ or ‘the dog’ may at times seem controversial, they contain ‘adult’ words but each of these works is important to me in conveying the true ‘feeling’ of the time and together they hopefully capture the full rainbow of human experience. I hope the reader will catch the humour intended as well as the more serious points of reference.

Thanks for listening                                              edenbray 06.07.2020

THE SENTINEL

…   …   …

WW2-German-Wehrmacht-Luftwaffe-M40-Ubermantel-GREATCOAT-2-VERY-NICE-392061410090-2

… … …

Hold hard the grey coated sentinel

Who draws his breath upon faint hope

Of prussian nights and eternal lights

The sentinel knows his task is certain, pure

To ride the faithful stallion named ‘Endure’

….

To ride through mud and human gore

Around the coast of Britains shore

Through valleys decked blood-red golden

Summer sun bids summer days to lengthen

And face this morbid terror with burnished fist

Faces of morning joy emerge as though through mist

Children of a new day born through trial & risk

Birth, tempered now by no techno-squalid season

Our commanders, priests & thinkers meet to reason

Count the cost, pray the night, face another day of loss

This horse, this horse by whose fetlock, hock & hoof

Has stretched each sinew, elbow, flank & cannon

Born its worthy rider forth to carry unfurled banner

Thru streets, the alleys & the moors and on beside the Manor

While proles consort with trolls to cause a minor stammer

Thus people – do step forward then, to a one, without tremor

This sentinel so adored, while brass coffin handles glimmer

Memories so burned, so broken by the wounded page of time

Some feel more than a brother, some drink more then of wine

The object then of war is lost in laughter’s pain, winters frost

The mountain birds surround the evening dell, a private hell

To them unfurls, unfolds to these masters of the carrion well

Death always is the final wave to those we love or try to save

Regret, sadness, a feathered cowel for each the bravest brave

I salute you, I adore you in your weakest momento mio amico!

Button your tunic then O’tired counsellor, leader of our clan

You rode as well as any could & more perhaps than any should

Dismount your steed, attest the greed yet call only heroes fore

To set in tribute store this army to whom we can add no more

The brave, the true, the sure of heart & foot so dressed in blue!

…   …   …

writtenbyedenbray24.03.2020cv-19

this picture says it all!m

 

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Dedicated to, with my sincere thanks and appreciation ~ all the brave members of the NHS and other essential workers who have laboured heroically and tirelessly during the Covid-19 pandemid to help us through this traumatic and sad time

. . .

edenbraytoday

⚙︎

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SCHEMATICS & DIALECTICS

SCHEMATICS & DIALECTICS

Another Tale of the Swan-dyke

can u get the sun out 1

Hey ho! the brown hare jumping out of my dreams

Hey ho! brown hare jumping, leaping – so full of schemes

Lost in a reverie down in the farmers field

No need now for brown hare anymore to shield

Hey ho! the brown hare leaping and scheming

Grey hare, brown hare, he’s the bard of the meadow

an aristocrat of the shire, an intelligent fellow

he’s Puck, he’s a Hamlet. he’s a fine Othelo,

March hare mad, he’s Nicollò Machievelli

 

He’s the Artful Dodger, a free-range lodger,

a ‘rabbit’ you might  even invite to tea

Hey! ho! brown hare down in the farmers field

hopping and dreaming, plotting and scheming

Hey ho! the white owl stuck fast to his tree

and a yellow-beard bobbing like a lost canary

ploughman yellowhammer heard but rarely seen

brown hare working on his hopes and schemes

Hey ho! the brown hare so wise in the morning

wise as a brown owl at new day’s dawning

the buzzard, the owl, the deer and two horses

down by the swan-dyke by the brown water courses

Hey ho! the brown hare jumping with the bees

leaping and scheming, dialectic and free

edenbraytoday

ref. 16072020

the brown hare

 

 

 

 

 

 

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LUVVIN’-SWANS

LUVVIN’ SWANS

♈︎

Last Tale of the Swan-dyke

swan dyke

My two swans have gone

the nest they left still warm

but empty

No young to them were born

My two swans just left

I’m feeling quite bereft

kind of

I think they headed west

My lovely swans are gone

no signets for them to mourn

nor none that fled the nest

perhaps thats for the best

They left in the early morn

snuck out the back door

their beaks upon the floor

won’t see them no more

Left by morning light

my faithful pair took flight

they waited till the last

till her time had passed

No eggs were laid this year

no young for them to lose

their sadness brings a tear

their loss, a parent’s bruise

My two swans have gone

they left by the back door

no eggs this year did show

a night owl watched them go

edenbraytoday

ref.15072020

 

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FRAGILITIES MINE

FRAGILITIES MINE

.FRAGILITY

☘︎ ☘︎ ☘︎

. . .

fragility …

What is a life among so many?

the iron wheels of Dalwinni                  

The cold currency of commerce

where there is no time for verse

only the sharp teeth of the crocodile – bared

exposed to the rank and file

caught like brown rabbits in a snare

with an occasional bloody hare

fragility

Amid the final dance of death

appeared through angels breath

The delicacy of natures fronds

serve well as angel wands

The wind blew, away they flew

the wind that made me strong

a soldier boy his tunic ruddy

furled his hopes and diamonds bloody

 

fragility

We ran to meet the fullest moon

To greet a morbid, sorbet sun

Sing the stars our saddest, acrid tune

attest the quarantine of mercy

Sincerity feeds upon the leanest souls

crows stand both alone and holy

The warmth that only others feel

 resting sound in fields of plenty

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fragility

A tattered, outgrown, tainted gown

patched, matched Saint Crispin’s frown

Atrophy and disdain like parched earth

applaud the entrance of dew-drop mirth

Anthony salutes the birth, now worthy sleeps

while Dante’s soul inestimably weeps

The bridge of sighs so tender a culvert

salver for the evening’s pater noster

fragility

Bees collect their pollen in priestly vests

duty buttoned daily to their blackened chests

Faithful volunteers for an Oxfam-army

rent collectors for a parish swarmy

While cavaliers and roundheads storm the gates

exiles and immigrants both Lindisfarne holy

Assemble on the tarmac to learn their fates

soldiers of fortune, angels of mercy – all must wait

fragility

Once more for England, once more for Harold

Once more for Michael at the beryl gate

Candescent and lonely,

golden hooves shod for a Royale pony

We drank sailors rum, bit Samson’s loyal thumb

Lay down to a Dylan muse, till the words ran dry

Just the tune played on in our heads by the by

something sweet that made our mother cry!

fragility

O’ the colonials reduced in the sieve

blended from once where woad-men lived

Not pioneers, engineers, men of vision

not mix-raced, mixed persons, minds of decision

only guilty amalgams who tortured braves

evil persons who once profited from slaves

Better for them if they’d drowned in the waves

Stand up then and wave goodbye to England!

edenbraytoday

ref.13072020

 

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OUTTAKES – 01 ~ TELL US A STORY PROFESSOR HESTER

OUTTAKES – 01

I’ve been in the attic, I’ve been in the cellar, I raided my notebooks – I’M HAVING A YARD SALE – It’s a Car Boot – THEY’RE UNFINISHED LINES, unfinished poems, POEMS THAT MISSED OUT ON PREVIOUS RETROSPECTIVES, good ideas, BAD IDEES, inspiration, OR JUST GOOD TITLES, abortive attempts – IM CLEARING THE BACKLOG – opening up the storehouse – IT’S A COLONIC IRRIGATION – an enema – I’M MILKING THE PAPS – so mother writer’s milk might flow through fresh again!

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TELL US A STORY PROFESSOR HESTER

..

CW0005

In consequence of the most moral changes in his outlook, Hester decided in his own mind to reflect only upon that which was true. At least as by his definition of truth, which was that which was true to himself. He had no desire to differ or disagree with anyone and determined, very much, that in future he would prefer his own wise counsel to any external opinion. Hester had for a number of years become increasingly alone and solitary in his habits although he still harboured the hope and feelings that there may be a person or persons with whom he might enjoy a closer social intercourse and fraternity. He considered that he himself had lived most of his life as something of a personality-chameleon and wondered in fact whether his predisposition and desire to blend in or fit in, to the point of changing his verbal stance, if not his actual personal opinion, was tantamount to the condition which in fact psychoanalysts referred to by the term schizophrenia.

CW0001-700x1024

Hester began to repeatedly take time to sit quietly at a plain wooden table by a window that allowed the sunlight to shine through. He sat with a wood-cased pencil and a small pile of loose paper and he wrote down the things he believed were important to him. The lists became increasingly and almost agonisingly long and he began to wonder if he were not deceived in his own considered assessment of himself, what he believed and who he actually was, especially in terms of his own character and opinion. His list of likes was greater than he could ever have imagined and led him to believe himself, therefore, as something of a hypocrite.

CW0007

As time proceeded, Hester began to find renewed confidence in his own personal opinions and while attending a political rally held in the local Community Centre he rose to voice a thought-provoking question in response to an open invitation given by the orator. Hester surprised himself at how assured and articulate he had become and was overwhelmed not only by the general reaction and applause his question aroused but by the post-meeting conversation and invitations to events associated to the party and its members that he received. Hester soon found he had a new circle of friends and acquaintances and he was invited to speak himself at the next arranged rally, which he accepted and enjoyed. Within only three years, Hester was appointed the leading spokesperson for the group.

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edenbraytoday

ref. 07.2020

… thanks for listening …

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I SAW A SHOT-DOWN ANGEL

I Saw A Shot-Down Angel

by Charles Causely

A GUEST POEM

I saw a shot-down angel in the park

His marble blood sluicing the dyke of death

A sailing tree firing its brown sea-mark

Where he now wintered for his wounded breath

… 

I heard the bird-noise of his splintered wings

Sawing the steep sierra of the sky

On his fixed brow the jewel of the Kings

Reeked the red morning with a starving eye

I stretched my hand to hold him from the heat

I fetched a cloth to bind him where he bled

I brought a bowl to wash his golden feet

I shone my shield to save him from the dead

My angel spat my solace in my face

And fired my fingers with his burning shawl

Crawling in blood and silver to a place

Where he could turn his torture to the wall

Alone I wandered in the sneaking snow

The signature of murder on my day

And from the gallows-tree, a careful crow

Hitched its appalling wings and flew away

 

 

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THE DOG

dog 2

.

The dog

A lecture

..

I’m a dog

I’m a savage dog

A dog that you don’t need

A dog you should not feed

I’m a sad dog

I’m a bad dog

A dog without a tail

I’m a grey dog

I’m a white dog

I’m a black dog

A dog wog

A prairie dog

A dog out on the trail

A dog that still can wail

I’m a rabid dog

A dog full of disease

A dog without a leash                 

Not a love dog

To sit between your knees

Give you all my fleas

If I lay upon my back

You can see my male sack

And tell that I don’t lack

A dog bound to this verse

Stuck within this curse

Riding in a hearse

Impolite and terse

Hang around

– it gets worse!

I’m a tabloid dog

You can read between the lines

I’m a dog that never pines

I never pay my fines

I’m a fierce dog

A wolf-dog

A dog out on the street

A dog with mangy feet

I’m a lone dog

A lost dog

A dog whose on the run

A dog who has no fun

A dog that needs – a gun!

I’m a wild dog

A riled dog

I’d crap upon your floors

Show you then my paws

Right next to my claws!

Fight then for the cause

I’m a mad dog

A dog with a bad grin

A dog thats full of sin

I’m a dog that eats it all

The guts, the legs, the balls

I’m a bold dog

I’m an old dog

I’m a cold dog

A dog thats lost its way

A dog in a manger

A dog who is a stranger

A real lone ranger

Not a farm dog

A sheep dog

Who does what its told

Leads the sheep to the fold

A dog with a bushy tail

I’m a dog you wouldn’t want

A dog out of control

I should live down a hole

I’m a dog

edenbraytoday

ref. 05072020

 

English Dictionary definition : Wail ~ a prolonged high-pitched cry of pain, grief, or anger.

a dog 1

its a dogs life

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BALADIN’S DREAM & OTHER TALES – XI

fIve

To celebrate the launch of this FIRST EDITION of a self-published pamphlet containing all 11 poems in the Complete Collection of BALADIN’S DREAM and OTHER TALES by edenbray, along with full Authors Notes, I am offering a signed, printed hard-copy for just £5 inc. post/packing for orders within the United Kingdom and £6.50 inc. shipping for orders outside the UK ~ This is a limited time offer!

#NOTE ~ please email ME ;~ stepheneede689@btinternet.com or post a comment in the comments box at the foot of this page and request details of how to make payment ~ including your name and the address where you would like the printed copy to be sent ~ PLEASE indicate if it is to be a gift.                      Many thanks ~ edenbraytoday

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TO Celebrate the occasion I am re-posting all eleven parts  –  Today we reach the conclusion BALADIN’S DREAM  ~ The Final Story – Part XI – THE GHOST of BALADIN FLIES …

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BALADIN’S DREAM

and OTHER TALES

by edenbray

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BALADIN’S DREAM ~ XI

Authors Note ~

Baladin now take your rest ~ the storyteller has finally earned his beaker of Barleycorn nitecap and tonight he goes to meet the reaper and they will exchange their wizard’s craft.

The collateral of the wise and none ere’ walked much wiser than the legend that is DemBala the Wolfmaster who sleeps now with a pack of wolves laid around his feet and while dreamers pipes embers’ glisten faintly in the breeze of the palest moonlight for this last time, a herd of caribou also graze peacefully not far from where Baladin has been laid. A life less extraordinary might have had more that is morose to record and yet my soundest friend it has been my pleasure to know thee and write these faint tints & hints, these tasters & spoilers true of Baladin’s even fuller Tales he takes with him to the skies. ~ This much welcome Memoir though,  I now will always treasure.

Goodnight my old friend!                                         edenbraytoday

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THE GHOST OF BALADIN FLIES

an obituary

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… They say the ghost of Bal-a-din flies over the moors of Mull since the days they laid his bones to rest!

That he has appeared in the jagged rush of a snow leopard in the wasteland of Siberia’s southern hills …

They have heard his cry in the moan of an ice whale who remembered his silhouette against the flickering northern lights …

… and a white bear, they say, was heard to sing a tune to Baladin’s Song by two starving hunters one evening in the west of Alaska …  

Yet the strangest tale concerns a blue marlin that a fisherman heard laugh like the great man when breaking his line and then escaping off the Florida keys …

… and at least once he brought terror to sailors who say they saw Baladin’s smile in the face of a wandering albatross … but at least I do know the truth of DemBala, the wolf master ….

He died a happy old man in his sleep after supper with three younger women by his bed side and a warm log fire crackling in the hearth for this is indeed Ba-La-Din.

He had made his peace with the Almighty a long time previous and now travels the universe at the Master’s bidding often stopping to gaze at the cerulean and the viridian of the earth so far below.

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written 06.04.2012

  awaiting the meek’s inheritance …

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I determine to write what I feel and what really matters! I could write of flower-strewn valleys. Of powder-puff clouds scudding across cerulean skies above green fields where fattened cows wander contentedly beneath snow-capped mountains, lakes and gorges. Of places only the rich and the famous may vacate to squander their loose change but then there is Baladin, Dembala – the Wolf-Master. 

        EDENBRAYtoday ~ June 2020

DA EDENBRAY

Da EDENBRAY

thanks for listening …

20EDENBRAY 8

edenbray8

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BALADIN’S DREAM & OTHER TALES – X

seVen

To celebrate the launch of this FIRST EDITION of a self-published pamphlet containing all 11 poems in the Complete Collection of BALADIN’S DREAM and OTHER TALES by edenbray, along with full Authors Notes, I am offering a signed, printed hard-copy for just £5 inc. post/packing for orders within the United Kingdom and £6.50 inc. shipping for orders outside the UK ~ This is a limited time offer!

#NOTE ~ please email ME : ~ stepheneede689@btinternet.com or post a comment in the comments box at the foot of this page and request details of how to make payment ~ including your name and the address where you would like the printed copy to be sent ~ PLEASE indicate if it is to be a gift.                        Many thanks ~ edenbraytoday

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TO Celebrate the occasion I am re-posting all eleven parts  –  Today it is BALADIN’S DREAM  ~ Part X – NATREANA 

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BALADIN’S DREAM

and OTHER TALES

by edenbray

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BALADIN’S DREAM ~ X

Authors Note ~

Another Tale of Baladin, whom we have met before and this an unlisted Tale. There were originally 9 Numbered Tales, plus an obituary to Baladin the Wolfmaster ~ to be found in this publication and each is a mythology and a fantasy. For Baladin is a seer, a prophet and a storyteller regál with a memory near old as the wind or the tide and as such he travelled with the wisest counsel.

So to this extra, lost Tale regarding the fair Natreana and her lover Eberus ~ a Tale so similar in points of interest to those found in a much earlier and longer piece entitled ~ ‘Concerning Andriose and Methuen’ ~ that in the stakes of this mythology it has led many to consider whether those truths current in both these Tales are sufficient to warrant they speak of a lost Daughter somewhere in Baladin’s forgotten past that he longed to speak of despite some great sadness that preventeth him so to do. Now the Long ships have since departed and taken our Regal Storyteller far away aboard the Hringhorni on the journey from which there is no return.

Forsooth then dear reader may likely thank ye for the works of Tolkien, Lewis, Aesop, the Bard himself, the Greeks, the Norsks, the Romans & great Moses’ Book itself, from whence all such  imaginations run and none find better!                        ~ edenbraytoday

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BALADIN’S DREAM

X

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NATREANA

a lost tale of Baladin

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…   …   …

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Eberus, a tall, lithe warrior dressed in fur and dusted by the plains of Maraballa, knelt and looked far beyond the deep purple hills of Sysophola.

His heart was heavier than the cargo of a sea barge drifting on the Aratteus after a months hunting and trawling for pescuth… 

He viewed the herd of Atruscean antelope that carried such rich, dark meat, little fat & fetched good bounty at the Gerder market each first day.

Natreana had not spoken to him for six days now and this after they had shared that special moment while he visited – carrying forest truffles.

He nursed the knife her jagged eye lodged in his open heart, the wound where only torn emotion and passion lie side by side.

When they were joined by thought and imagination he knew her heart raced with his and by now he were chasing the insolent deer.

Who grazed on autumn coloured grasses, trimmed, and so languid as Eberus who contemplated turning his  dagger inward to end his mire.

Why is love the hardest, the slowest and the most painful night while it also causeth the step to quicken, the countenance to lighten and a smile?

For these thoughts the deer were now left to tripping, gambling, running and to breathing free as the night prussian and dark fell upon them.

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written 08.12.2015

. . .

.]

20EDENBRAY 8

thanks for listening …

 

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BALADIN’S DREAM & OTHER TALES – IX

sIx

To celebrate the launch of this FIRST EDITION of a self-published pamphlet containing all 11 poems in the Complete Collection of BALADIN’S DREAM and OTHER TALES by edenbray, along with full Authors Notes, I am offering a signed, printed hard-copy for just £5 inc. post/packing for orders within the United Kingdom and £6.50 inc. shipping for orders outside the UK ~ This is a limited time offer!

#NOTE ~ please email ME ;~ stepheneede689@btinternet.com or post a comment in the comments box at the foot of this page and request details of how to make payment ~ including your name and the address where you would like the printed copy to be sent ~ PLEASE indicate if it is to be a gift.                      Many thanks ~ edenbraytoday

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TO Celebrate the occasion I am re-posting all eleven parts  –  Today it is BALADINS DREAM  ~ Part IX – REMEMBERIN’ LUCY 

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BALADIN’S DREAM

and OTHER TALES

by edenbray

⚜︎

BALADIN’S DREAM ~ IX

Authors note ~

The ninth and originally the final part of the Dream of Baladin is possibly harder to follow than most I will admit and may need a translator which was in part my intention. Baladin has wandered in and out of America’s modern history and so of course had to be around at the time of the Battle of Little Bighorn to witness the final frontier of white mans humiliation of America’s proud and indigenous peoples who fought but failed to save their dignity at that horrific battle.

Pelleneous, I understand was an Indian squaw who changed her name to Lucy! ~ Loved by her people and adored by white men for her beauty she was married to Captain Darius by whom she had children and who we understand may have died at the hands of her natural kin.

How much of this is true or is legend we may only surmise and the jumble of this tale is confused further, due to Baladin’s aged and emotionally saddened memory as he recounts this most torrid part of his Dream. This tortured tale of love, hate and war-torn history he recounts on his very death bed. It was originally placed as Part III of the Dream to reflect its chronological order in the wholeness of the story and within Baladin’s long life.

This tale may in part also owe much to my respect for Arthur Pen’s epic film Little Big Man; to the romantic story of Pocahontas and John Smith; to General Custer and Chief Sitting Bull and their vitriolic feud; to Davy Crocket and John Wayne; to John Ford’s classic western ‘the Searchers’; to Chief Dan George or possibly the best proportion of a most excellent bottle of Sazerac straight Rye Whisky. Baladin passed, shortly after recounting this torrid tale on his way to that great reservation in the sky!         edenbraytoday

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BALADIN’S DREAM

IX

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REMEMBERIN’ LUCY!

 

P P P

The plane pain is in the moment passing

and the joyful laughter which grates

Even sunlight can carry an annoyance factor

and my father, a grey resistance worker

I tumbled the ‘Redskin Falls’ ashamed

of what ‘we’ had done with a blockade

And a night to remember at ‘Bighorn’

so many were lying reeking in the hot sun

By the sweet Pelleneous smiling in the dark night

which lit fires and helped men of war to dream

So much won would trickle through their hands

return to deserts of trial in the morning

O’ Pelleneous sweet peace distilling

O’ caravan and round the hawk who flies

The morning skies and the grey craggy mountain

sights clear around the sound of a crying wind

Mother bear is laid out in the sun

while down in the raw valley hairs skip

A green lizard cool on the bleached stones

yet the trample of hoof is the iron fist

Darius had two white horses

was always one for the moment

He would fly if that was the choice of dragons

caught with two shots to the chest

O’ Darius, life is past its best

with fourteen thousand renegades

Arrows marked so cold and bloody

eagles visit the moon on the red river

The bleeding heart is won

two naked lovers who swam together

O’ Pelleneous never met the boy

or taught the man enough to care

At home in Brighorn County

two plump geese grazing corn

White children of both the lost and lonely

the jack nipped at the younger’s finger

The rivers swell now washing umber

Indian maids tear-stained gaze

O’ Pelleneous your beauty scarred

you met the masters thunder.

p p p

 written 06.04.2012

DA EDENBRAY

thanks for listening …

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