LETRASET LANE .. .

letraset lane .. .

..

Back streets cobbled
   hidden off-street parking
   green door shabby
   betide brushed-tin sign

placard to an advertising
   business, screwed flush
   against the wall, engraved
   in times new roman

desk-top publishing’s arrival
   puts the squeegee on
   umlaut-serif, graphic artists
   march past longacre town

leaving letrasets behind
   they discard their levi’s
   and their rotrings put on
   classic shirts and ties

no regard for family business
   36 points of clarendon, not
   so bold, peignot a semi shuffle
   down arial typeface lane

we lost so much of culture from
   basker-ville of life, impact-full, sans-
   serif, microsoffic futura; they sold
   desdemona’s birthright, 0 ‘the sham

solide mirage typeface eventually
   and uniquely monospaced, a
   proportional companion to the pro-
   gressive leic-est-er family band

strange the unconventionality
   of his willow-warbler sound
   steeped in an Elliot wasteland
   typographically lucida grande

.. ..

©edenbraytoday30.05.2025

Authors notes:

..
This typeface – ‘Solide Mirage’ was created specifically for the band FAMILY’s album – it is a squared monospaced typeface with a proportional companion.
Strange band are we – yet none taught me to read or to understand T.S.Elliot – you either get it or you dunny
..

‘Dog and his master, took out together
Heading due west, away from the east
Walking the road, leading a blind man
Staff in his hand, and a dog that could see
Strange looking band were we’

..
–  J. Whitney / R. Chapman © 2 hours ago, edenbray

Posted in edenbray APPRECIATION, edenbray MEMOIRS, edenbray POMES, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

TESCO OFFERS .. .

tesco offers

..

..

i

Step down walkways
  imaginations memoirs
  clinging; still hung over
  in your full bloodied mind
  concerning latest cortex
            of worries
  dreams ill-defined

I join this maze of human traffic
  looking to survive
  in a world of semi-choices
  hunter-gatherers
  ad-hoc vegetarians
            alongside
  unfeeling blood sniffers

Full-moon, sliced chorizo
  all kinds of panacea
  prosciuito, pink as erythema
  butchered ham cut
  from off the bone;
              still raw
  arranged in plastic packets

Everything is box-filed
  for the elements
  household bills; statements
  under traumatic stress
  you pass through
              stationery
  for the alcohol

Anxious moments
  for your paracetamol
  bandaid plasters nestled-in
  across from the aisle
  of the dead and dying
                next in line
  to anchovies in virgin oil

I’m standing on a coastal
  plain outside of Cumbria
  string-bean leaves of
  samphire and Florence fennel
  wave, dressed in ‘old Eagles’
                  kelly green
  random thoughts as choices

I choose healthy avocado
    or kiwi fruit dressed
    in ‘new team’ teal
    livery ‘those Eagles’
    adopted in 1996
                  – Pantone 19-4922
    course in creative thinking

Extravagant walk-through:
  these vast fields of cereal
  yoga meditations
  take me to Iowa these
  fluorescent suns burn
                  day and night
  in my sight : into my brain

I step aside this man
  this woman: her laden
  shopper; she once was
  still is, a native warrior
  carrying water from
                    a stream
  of conscious thought

ii

Attest me now, this fullest
    Shakespearian scene:
  excepting wall-mounted
    fridge freezers are not
  village cotagiums or homes
    for serfs and peasants
  that may have stood
    in the dark, middle ages
  where we are standing now
    demanding fairness and
  freedom from unsatisfied
    lives, while white rabbits
  tan quail, sienna partridge
    with their legs tied: hang
  bound and frozen from
    ancient buttress beams

We cannot now carry
    too much bottled water
  nor pay eco farmers
    what we ought to
  nor celebrate, nor pray
    without the chimes
  of the Angelus; the bells
    of Saint Isidore lie broken
  raucous birds alight
    upon already outdated
  communication wires
    and thus in contradiction
  of these times; those
    jingle-jangle voices
  have pleasantly retired
    from the ears of those
  who patiently wait in sell
    by date supermarket lines
 
 
   
 ..
 

Posted in BEAT, edenbray COMMENT, edenbray MEMOIRS, edenbray OPINION, edenbray POMES, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

HELL ON FIRE: with THREE HARES, a QUADRILLE and a QUAIL in a COCONUT SKY .. .

Hell on fire with 3 hares, a quadrille and a quail .. . in a coconut sky

A sonnet burns upon this flaxen heath     
flairs are lit within my glowered eyes
storm the harbinger of yellowed grief
dance blurred visions of three hares

From stubblefields at thy peripheral
emerged their kimbel, a lively jack
he adds his steps to form a quadrille
that dances sun onto its bronzed back           

They chasse, then quick as wink soon depart         
to scatter quail and all sad, buried thought
from oilseed gold to crofter’s mournful cart
at fields where our brothers may have fought

Salute the sky, its hero ghosts awake
all other hellish memories forsake

..
..

©edenbraytoday23.04.2025

Posted in edenbray POMES, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

. .. POSTCARD FROM THE ESPLANADE .. .

.. .

One hundred times we arrive
  at seaside towns incognito
gulls sing mournful to the wind
  sleight the tongue then spew
their guano at the borderline               
  sad potato in their craw
expanded like one wet summer
  it began slowly soon ended

Backstreet billboards rage
  of politicians, old comedians
back at the Adelphi once more
  three nights longside Johnny
Geetar’s archive, misfit band
  not yet seen gold or sand
locked up in two-bit lodgings
  worn equipment trailers

Sandy shale beaches; walk
  coast-lined to the bleachers
watch breakers crash wooden
  groynes;  disjointed crabs
avoid final summation; this 
  misty morn: queue the waves
they rush to divide and conquer
  relentless, seaside armada

It happens here or not at all
  place of earthmover summits
sea monster ; people sonnets
  wonder full or wander lust
shoreline lover’s trysts betide
  world leaders: their buckets
and shovels take global stage
  address the spoils of plunder

Straight off the morning train
  I face sea-salt exhilaration
it engages me; all the tiny tots
  plastic windmills; 50 pence slots
a day that could not be better
  a hundred times we’ve been
I expect we will return again
  to pull our stuff together

©edenbraytoday18.04.2025

Posted in edenbray POMES | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

TURNER PRIZE .. .

Turner Prize .. .

by your leave
I am not sullied by semantics
my projects
laid out like morning clothes
Charles Wesley
spoke with the chamber maid
lay down your guns
in charcoal
the chamber maid spoke with the cook
lay down your pistols and your swords
in pastel
I’m up for the Turner this year
where nobody understands
what anyone is saying
until they write the book
in ink
Babylon in newsprint
the king told the chamber maid
O’ i do like a little butter with my bread
the chamber maid spoke with the cow
concept concept
set in formaldehyde
cliche cliche
not all prize winners are Damien Hurst
or a preserved animal
an unmade bed
or a sculpture
made of salt, sand
wood, stone
glass or resin
in concrete
difficult to explain
till in the morning light
and on the early tide
they are washed away
concept concept
is the new king
O’, said the king
but i do like a little butter
with my bread

©edenbraytoday30.03.2025

Posted in BEAT, edenbray OPINION, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

THE WHITE FUR & THE SABLE .. .

 

 

THE WHITE FUR and THE SABLE

.

the white fur – the sable
black fur dark
all souls capable
they return horned and
homeward through
sand-scarred missal
feet forged at earth’s core
harpooned tusks, volcano
scorched, scored agate
the languid oryx
stands benign

mythological – many are
the animals so cloven hoofed
did she not borrow
curvéd scimitars
of ice whales from 
the frozen north
if so, she hid it well
favouring tranquility
over beasts of burden
slavishness, fears
about hostilities

serenity – the desert
antelope wears his
last owner’s stripe
as sand trickles through
this island preoccupation
    this  w  a  r
oceanic, seismic borders
he who plants broadest foot
makes claim on fairest quarters
desires safe haven wherever
she; he may raise
sons and daughters

..

©edenbraytoday10.03.2025

Posted in edenbray OPINION, edenbray POMES, WAR POEMS | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

WHAT’S THAT PAINTING ON THE WALL .. .

What’s that painting on the wall? …

..

in the half light
it seemed the best place to start
to try to explain
there is a painting on the wall

we were in a cafe
before we all stopped smoking
i moved the pepper toward the salt
it was a philosophical equation

the picture said it all
I had funny lines that could explain it
but suddenly I fell sleepy
a psychological pain behind my eyes

two mugs of coffee arrived
we talked together in hushed tones
as talking is always better
than killing, hating, maiming or blaming

we agreed to differ
about the meaning of the painting
the yellow painting
which hung discreetly on the wall

..

©edenbraytoday22.02.2025

..

(extracts from the yellow book)

Posted in edenbray COMMENT, edenbray OPINION, edenbray POMES, POEMS FOR CHANGE -, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

INDIGENOUS INDIGESTION – beat bop

Indigenous indigestion – beat-bop

People are proud of their heritage
sitting on balconies with their windie boxes
wondering if the structure they are sitting on
is secure enough to take their weight
the high-rise boxes they now live in
are no better than the tenements
they were moved from in 1968
when everyone had thought they were great
but now they knock them down
they have found they wasnae sound

And a few hardy bums build their homes
under flyovers and in underpasses
or in shop windies wi’ a recess
who have forgotten their heritage
or where they came from
before they arrived in the city made of concrete
whose chemical production ripped a man-size
hole in the ozone down by the Honduras
where they say it is always warm
you can dip your toes in the sea

There’s a veteran who served in Afghanistan
who hit on hard times after he came hame
and he was born in Scotland
lived in the tenements with high ceilings
and sashy windies and gloomy paper on the walls
and the mammy polished the tiled step stone
at the front door o’ their hoose
as all the people did when they were proud
of their heritage, their standing in the street
the people that they were

©edenbraytoday23.02.2025

Posted in BEAT, edenbray MEMOIRS, edenbray OPINION, edenbray POMES, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

STEINBECK LANE .. .

Steinbeck Lane .. .

..

Where I grew up in gunner’s shale
  shoes polished, faces paper pale
the television flickered bread was stale
  we put a brave face on and smiled

green the carpet spread about us
  sleepy set among post-war housies               
chintzy paper covered cracks all over
  cells wrought strong not jerry built

search to find patriots hidden
  neath the undergrowth were they driven
the anonymity of the poor left bleeding
  to find their own way still believing

young dreamers spake in tongues
  fragile voices with tobacco lungs
learned audacious visions of the past
  wore their hair like broken glass

partizan, brash, all self assuming
  with devils, youth eternally colluding
batter at the hoary head of shame
  vindictive in apportioned blame

they looked for Steinbeck Lane
  midst middle-class cul-de-sacs of pain
found only rough hewn poem sonnets
  buried ‘neath their childhood bonnets

we puffed the dragon, spilt his seed
  rallied ‘gainst the capitalist creed
read the book of thoughts by tse tong
  infected of the wrong of being young

thus bells rang out for class
  smug disappointment settled vast
a generation too soon ran to the hills
  scattered potions, memes and pills

an estuary of guilt and lost romance
  brave ones died, others left the dance
the auditorium emptied and a pale
  shenanigan cemented took its place

where the underground; the subversive
  now that Dylan sold his back catalogue
the rebel rousers all went electric
  relevant protest versed in semantics

a few hardy souls remain transient
  existentially mindful, consciously aware
they stand by their indelicate stain
  watch, listen, elevator music disdain

..

©edenbraytoday26.01.2025

Posted in BEAT, edenbray COMMENT, edenbray MEMOIRS, edenbray OPINION, edenbray POMES, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

FORSOOTH .. .

.

forsooth .. .

...

.

Branded by categories
paranoia on a train
heading east
where sandals divide toes
and sardines lie in tins

I memorise lines of Chaucer
not enough time to digest
all she wrote me
or candles I ever lit
at the sepulchre of meaning

Deconstruct things
maybe all this, is Picasso’s fault
we cannot see things
as once before
subtlety with hidden meaning

There is no reason to deny
we did not share a common tongue
as at Babel we once were one
until mechanics of division kicked in
and we assumed a destiny

Conscious, alternative spores
ingest soulless rhetoric of noughts
empty thoughts and guns
an invasion by the ones
contest a universal Binary

Language is a sphere we kicked around
but did not invent
there are no square planets
only square holes filled
with hate as hats in different sizes

Revolution’s mother
stepped aside in that golden era
bell-bottomed marines
marooned on a philosophical island
a desert not of our choosing

Om: the causalities of war
bestial and banal
creativities icons lay beside
a Naam road with refugees
carts; possessions; dreams

We who had a ticket to ride
and who did not care
began to care very deeply
except the flames of change
burn all things before the running

And to the vets set aside
watching wheels turn
numb spacemen in the bleachers
held arms to change the world
tear down our flag unfurled

.

©edenbraytoday10.01.2025

Posted in BEAT, edenbray COMMENT, edenbray MEMOIRS, edenbray OPINION, edenbray POMES, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments