BALADIN’S DREAM & OTHER TALES – III

sIx

To celebrate the launch of the 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 this occasion I am re-posting all eleven parts –  today I am posting BALADINS DREAM  ~ Part III

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BALADIN’S DREAM

and OTHER TALES

by edenbray

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BALADIN’S DREAM ~ III

Authors Note ~

Baladin, the wise & learnéd but on this occasion  ~ ‘Baladin the Storyteller’ ~ Normally as a storyteller it is Baladin who himself  ‘were there’  at some point of his long & varied life ~ either as a boy ~ as a man – as a lover or as a friend.

For those familiar with my writing and my stories you will have met Baladin before. He is as old as time, he is as wise as any old & dusty, gold-leafed book you might find in the curiosity section of your favourite old-town book shop. Baladin ~ DemBala the Wolfmaster, who has seen nearly all ~ the good, the bad and yes the ugly and so, gather round folks – to hear this tale, both gentle and torrid.

This an 0de to the great Norsk & Greek Mythologies, it honours great fantasy authors such as J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis & the bard himself ~ Sir William S. of Stratford-upon-Avon. So tune the lyre and the Northumberland pipes, set ye ale in tankards ~ pewter, cooked meats on and off the bone, baked breads ~ fresh, hot and lascivious, agéd spirits & spiced foods ~ gather round the ‘toasting fire’ and let this Prince of wisdom’s tales so don his velvet tassle-cap to spin this yarn for us to hear and later tell to others. Let us now begin to listen in on tales renowned of Baladin. Let him unfurl this unholy Tale of Life from long ago and well ‘afore this pandendemic’ showed. Consider then Andriose, Andeleuse and Methuen ~ three souls that tell a tale at last to rival that of Romeo & Juliet! 

edenbraytoday

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BALADIN’S DREAM

III

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CONCERNING ANDRIOSE AND METHUEN

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*   *   *

A step as light as caused not lily leaf to tremor

A lithe and subtle frame, a skip and measured step,

A gait so gracious, so soft, latent and naive.

A mind of pastel colours, quiet and considered

and thoughts lush, rich and warm.

Who stepped on stones and pondered?

Or dipped a heel, a toe, in cool, fresh waters?

Or ran the smoothest sands to laugh?

Who walked with limbs tall and stretched?

Enjoying her youth, a sway, a turn, a giggle

Whose fun, gentle and intense?

A discovery of each moment, a personal joy!

Who splashed the waves that caught her midriff?

and bathed her body golden?

The rush, the spray, the hidden warmth,

as lovers lift and fall!

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*   *   *

.

And Methuen? who loved to watch the deer!

To climb the sun-baked granite and crouch!

Hearing trained on each sound and movement!

Where he might gaze the valleys green and ochre.

His sight as long as the purple-grey mountains

on the eastern slopes

Or wide as the grey-green hills beyond the river

Where he believed there might yet be a smaller breed

Who chased with velvet antlers high and various

He stretched now, a tall form caught raw

against the early evening sky

Where taut and toned, his limbs dusted

by the sands of the far plains

That the winds brought in a golden cloud each morning

The purple sky blushed peach caught his outline,

A dark, burnt-sienna, angled, firm and oiled by the days heat.

Methuen walked this path on mornings fair

Or even when the warm winds blew a tumult gale

That lifted plant and scrub and caused

the desert hares to scuttle

He loved to stand as now, the width of vision so intense

He could at times have cried, so moved with joy

The splendid epic set was so rare even to his unknowing gaze

This was the land he knew and cared for

and though in clear light he could see so far

That shapes sembled and moved to draw his attention

His wander-lust was satisfied in thought

and the sad pangs that caught him when considering

Even several nights beyond the care of his sweetest Andriose

Whose love lit stars in the night sky

and helped his wakened thoughts to settle.

Would the morning catch them?

Bonded gold by the bright gamboge day-star!

Or would the night draw back the veil of passions seed bed?

and show the naked lovers enlaced, plaited?

Methuen loved Andriose, this she knew full well

and when she heard the evening birds call

She waited for his safe return.

He never far behind, brought her mountain flowers

She wore them in her hair.

                 

 written 07.91~ edited 25.11.1992/14.10.2011

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Part 2

CONCERNING DANUCK THE YOUNGER

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*   *   *

alt. The Other Woman

( there always has to be another woman )

…

… and Andeleuse so cold, had watched the mating couple

as the sun set beyond Adderropp and vowed then, did she,

that he would be her golden lover as to herself she made

this certain promise, whilst Methuen, whose eyes so full of stars

was thrilled by her attentions and her acquaintance had never

yielded or in his heart wandered, but then as a lazy lion lays down

with love, lioness or a black viper that feels the need of heat

he squandered fair Andriose, whose heart he fully broke

and for this love of lust the maidens heart he cur’d so hard

herself, she washed in dust, cut her hair to stalks and cried

herself  in and out of sleep and pain ‘atop the ‘Gorgeous’

Mountain ~ that Mountain so generous to her, so full as she,

before the news of Methuen’s folly adored, which spread through

the association of the couples families, friends, hierarchy

and enemies – as people often do 

…

Methuen himself, donkey brained and distraught struck out

as a tortured character from a bards sonnet, he so full of woe

and lamenting,  forgot to dress and ran naked through the town

the parts spent in his recent treachery for all to see so jangled

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like jailor’s keys from his waist bronzed and eerie in evening light.

The naked lover found his naked Gillot lying in grit and rough

grass, her knees, breasts, bloodied, her face black with bruising

and the grief.

He lifted the palest Andriose – a crushed wild flower, carried

her to water, where by a mountain pool he plied her with love

and necessary tenderness ~ the intimacy that only truest

lovers then may share, till even a faint smile crept across her face,

for she felt no hatred, only hurt and senseless failure.

.

*   *   *

.

Three weeks on and in that night as cold as winter, dark as

writing ink, Andeleuse let blood from a gaping wound in her lean,

long neck ~ severed by a skinning knife whilst she slept and

borrowed from Andriose’s own father, the hunter ~ this

subsequent hatred formed from vengeance that pursues truth

where all judgements are settled by dark reason that in turn

settles the folly that is neither accident, nor providence nor

certainly nature’s will.

Andeleuse’s father, Danuck the elder, now added in part

to this sad and sorry tale.

In early recognition of his daughters larceny,

Danuck saw only sadness must follow for these three

heart-crossed lovers, whether foul or fair

and so too upon the night of the greater felony 

he followed at a distance to see how things might turn out

for the truest apple of his eye.

Danack then found and took her body, his righteous indignation of

his loins fruit, his incurable pain and hid all and buried her where

no one, not even animal or wolf or angels wand would ever find or

mutilate, he took this end to his grave for the end of love

and for a two who were not even his own, nor ever could be.

Stranger still that when Andriose and Methuen birthed a younger

~ they named him Danuck. He grew to be a mighty leader!

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written 18.06.2014 

…

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th

DA EDENBRAY

Da Edenbray

thanks for listening …

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BALADIN’S DREAM & OTHER TALES ~ II

seVen

To celebrate the launch of the 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 inc. shipping for orders outside the UK

~ 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 this occasion I am re-posting all eleven parts HERE ON MY EDENBRAY BLOG – Today I am posting  BALADINS DREAM Part II

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BALADIN’S DREAM

II

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THE STORM

☩ ☩ ☩

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Merciless was the sea that sent spray

As fine as angel’s breath into the mist

Sea-skuas danced, twisting and planing

In search of bloodless prey

Waves, deep and cavernous as mountain rocks

Gripped and threw the small boat fiercely

Its bulwarks heaved, creaked, moaned,

The dark night a blanket of anxious dreams

Which swept on, as shoreline lights

Sparked on the horizon

☩ ☩ ☩

A fond memory of shore nights, warm sheets

and comforts embrace

Flickering but faintly, whilst the gallant seamen

Wrestled the evil night

Baladin was delivered the tide

In soft mornings broken peace

He lay wrapped with discarded blankets

Shivering and thankful as a child

Returning from weekend excursions

This tale his sad eyes lit with the farmhouse lantern

and told in memory of his sweet friend Mar

Who was carried from the beach by the village men

Who found Baladin so uncertain and dazed

The morning after that awful storm broke

So malevolent and merciless

☩ ☩ ☩

written 07.1991

…

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DA EDENBRAY

Da Edenbray

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BALADIN’S DREAM & OTHER TALES ~ I

fIve

To celebrate the launch of the 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 this occasion I am re-posting all eleven parts – starting today with BALADINS DREAM  ~ Part I

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BALADIN’S DREAM

and OTHER TALES

by edenbray

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BALADIN’S  DREAM ~ I 

Authors Foreward to the Collection ~ an unending Collection of Prose prepared under the theme ~ ‘Baladin’s Dream’

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Baladin ~ a sage, a prophet, a mystic, a mythical and spiritual visitor to various places on our planet and possibly others also, who, in his latter years recounts from his vast memoirs of life & experience with tales of valour, tragedy and joy ~ either real or imagined ~ in a rambling tome revealing wisdom and vivid, biographical insight.

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A Dream ~ The Many Parts of this DREAM take on various poses, are noted at different times in history, deal with different facets of our human experience ~ faith, myth and fantasy and occur within various cultural settings. They might suggest Baladin has kind of  always been with us as an observer of life and death who tells tales with his own brand of storytelling and from his own, unique perspective.

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Baladin is my ageless companion, my friend and confidant, my alter-ego. He is a priest, a sensuous lover, a good husband, a pioneer, a hunter, an explorer, a visionary. He is a poet, a prophet, a soothsayer, a dreamer of dreams. Baladin is dangerously wise. He is someone you might trust and retire to on a dark night when you were anxious, troubled or afraid … He is a Leonardo cartoon, an unfinished Hemingway, a lesser-known album by Radiohead, a discarded line of Heaney verse, a Picasso drawing that one Carlos Garcia found in a box in a Madrid attic, he is that Turner watercolour sketch I ‘stole’ in one mad, imagined moment from the Clore Gallery Archive at the Tate. He is a fine bottle of Barolo or Montepulciano, an aged bottle of single-malt … …

Baladin has seen it all and more besides. More than most anyway and yet he still emerges into the sunlight, out of the blizzard or into the rain. He steps up and steps forward for yet more of this tortured, human experience.                                   

                                                                                          ~ edenbraytoday

                                                                                                    ~ 17.06.2020

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BALADIN’S DREAM ~ I

☨ ☨ ☨

A stream of prosaic adventures

like clouded marble glass

lit within by holy fire

illumined and permeated by

citrus light that grows outward

 

Journeys made in smooth streams

timeless travel on limitless purpose

the gold-crowned clouds of bird-blue skies

a wild and spattered foundation

for the unimaginable imagined

Clean, rushing water

bronze, round pebbles

and rainbow clusters hidden

Baladin’s dream abounds

unrestrained, the danger point passed

his mind rushing on into the

green garden of summer delights

☨ ☨ ☨

Freedom personified

and only music in his ears

sometimes light as shepherd flutes

and gypsy fiddles

others grandiose and building

but always triumphant and bronze-gold

Baladin has seen many muddied summers

soured moments caught as struggling 

flies held by indescribable murk.

He has felt cold winds that dry and burn

and has lain parched, unwanted,

in deserts fading fire.

He has for a time known the dull blank blindness

of a night which has no end

and seen bloody pain

Held the hand of tortured flesh

sat beside the spirits of the abused

and also known the rush of blood

the fire of unholy passion, ugly greed.

He, for a time was a victim of grey forces

whose stench and tireless intrigue

had led him naked and fettered

sightless and without cause

☨ ☨ ☨

Baladin was now an old man

his hair long and greyed, hanging loosely

his wisdom now only made him

forget the ugly tales he might tell

of recollections and reflections the old are

prone to and feel deserved of

Baladin sat with his mother-wife who had

known so much of him and yet so little

Love as blind as new-born leverets

had knit them as a well-worn rug

and they two could ponder

on the wonder of a blushed red sun 

as it lay in the twilight

grey-blue streamers coiled around

and running through it

the form of two naked lovers held forever

Baladin’s mind and spirit left now to wonder

looked out and beyond into the bright morning

he travelled the skua-skies

journeys wondrous birds make twice a year

and dreamed a dream so beautiful …

☨ ☨ ☨

written 27.07.1991

…

DA EDENBRAY

Da Edenbray

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TWO GIANT HAYSTACKS WITH CONVERGING LINES

giant haystack tone

TWO GIANT HAYSTACKS WITH CONVERGING LINES

(Giant Haystacks ~ A Collection of Verse That Meet)

…

…

O Albion, O Albion princess among the wolves

Your lithe ways betray your sensuous moves

O Albion, O Albion she lay down in the hay

Her dog-bitch must brought on by a brewers dray

…

I know I love thee, I love thee more than money

and in the morning we’ll go walking

out on the horizon

we are never coming back

…

That egg-blue horizon where lost telegraph wires

suffer the same morbid attenuation of a nation

grey lines disappearing

behind two flaxen stacks

…

It’s hard to believe until you shake the sieve

that all these lines will meet one day

inside the passions murmuration

where only grizzled monsters grieve

…

Converging and concentric lines

the 1,000th part at heavens gate

where even Romulus and Remus wait

Sanctus Paulus et Petrus there conclude

with pious Pope both their parallel fate

…

This tattooed Isle ~ this tortured Isle

conscience-worn and stricken

attitudes vile, uninformed, yet still uncertain

Where tolerance becomes a dirty word

and love the final treason

...

Please rush past my window

with your flutter and your pomp

Don’t bother knocking at my door

you will never find me in

Until you bow the knee,

and then confess your sin

…

Two haystacks stand in the corner of this field

huge obstacles that can be turned to fodder

Two giant haystacks in a field

One said to the other

You are my brother, did you know

We came from the same mother?

The sun had burnt one to black

thus proved it were an older stack

showed against the younger’s gold

that younger was not that old

Or wise, or thoughtful or caring

just spent its evenings staring

…

What is the weather forecast today ~ cloudy?

What is the forecast for today ~ sun?

What was the forecast for us today – run?

…

Have we now forgotten how to cry

or forgotten how to laugh?

The golden future of tomorrow

…

Have we forgotten how to love

or now forgotten how to give?

God opened a stained-blood window

…

I took an orange from the bowl today

peeled back its orange skin

I tasted fruit so sweet and driven

could not smell its culture’s sin

…

Farmer came to clear the stacks away

To open up the skyline panorama

Loaded they upon a cart in threes an’ twos

To preclude this allegorical dilemma

Not a hamstrung minister of indecision

Nor repentant priest, no sharp contrition

We nurse the absurdity of change without drama

compose a litany where waters run most deep

While only two things mean anything in this life

God, and your heart, where then should we start?

…

edenbraytoday

ref.21.06.2020 ~ the longest day

RESEARCH ALBUM :

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thanks for listening …

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DON’T TAKE DOWN MY RAGE

DON’T TAKE DOWN MY RAGE!

…

DONT TAKE MY RAGE

…

Don’t fold my rage away

or pull it down

It’s tumult speaks

from out of the ground

The farmer knows

who turns the earth

Those seeds were sown

long before its birth

and since the tillers shanks

cut deep in lethal rakes 

The farmer knows for sure

when we’re making new mistakes

…

The mad dogs bay

its time to be afraid

Democracies shield explodes

when society implodes

All we count most dear

becomes the stuff of fear

Bring back the Beatles

cancel Armageddon

Don’t burn the barn down

with treasure’s inside hidden

Replace the rotting wood

With fresh timber that is good

…

Mississipi John Hurt, Robert Smalls

Arthur Ashe, Sachmo, Josiah Walls

They’re all down with Kaepernick

in history’s famous huddle

All those lives, deep footprints

In the Frederick Douglass ‘struggle’

James McCune Smith, the Louisville Lip,

Poitier, Sammy Davis, Ralph Ellison

All sculptures for a better world

where respect is earned not taken

Where children they may gather

and watch the world grow better

Without the stain of mob-rule,

vandalism, violence or terror

…

In nineteen seventy two

at the behest of my nurse friend Millie

we were invited to her Jamaican wedding

In a church hall deep in Balham

as guests we laughed and danced

and watched events unfold

We learned a different culture

we ate curry, rice n’beans

and shared in people’s dreams

There were gifts and greetings,

prayers and blessings given

and at 10.30 we left for home

We had spoken of a new day

that was coming for people of all colour

that was nineteen seventy two!

..

Stand in the box car

Stand in the tram

Stand on your soap box

Stand eatin’ chitlin’s

and hot, buttered yams

black-eyed peas,

pork chops and dumplings

Stand on your big red bus

Stand on your ladder

to get a better view

Stand with your eyes shut

Stand naked and true

Yes, stand in that history

of change from within

Everything else soon becomes

an unnecessary sin

Don’t muddy the crimson waters

of those who have been brave

On a day trip to Mutiny

with Sandra, Ben and Dave

…

writtenbyedenbraytoday

Ref. 15052020

 

power-concedes-justice-povery-ignorance-class-society-organized-conspiracy-oppress-degrade-property-quotes-and-image-by-frederick-douglass

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Frederick-Douglass-Quotes-1-1024x482

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GOLDEN HAIR

syd barrett

GOLDEN HAIR

by Syd Barrett

A GUEST POEM

…   …   …

Lean out your window
Golden hair
I heard you singing
In the midnight air
My book is closed
I read no more
Watching the fire dance
On the floor
I’ve left my book
I’ve left my room
For I heard you singing
Through the gloom
Singing and singing
A merry air
Lean out of the window
Golden Hair
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Brave New World – THE OAK TREE

BRAVE NEW WORLD

circa. 1970

5 poems

#5

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THE OLDE OAK TREE

… … …

…

The old oak tree

makes an ancient eery sound

Its roots spread out

deep within the ground

…

The gnarled old oak tree

solid, sound and true

Its branches provide shelter

for me and for you

…

The great old oak tree

tis’ a worthy sight to see

I wish something like that

could be said of me

…

writtenbyedenbray81971

Ref. 03062020

…

~ 50 year anniversary ~

#Authors Note ~ This poem is modelled on a piece I wrote around 1970. The Olde Old Oak Tree was originally one of five diverse poems that were accepted for a published Anthology entitled something like – ‘This Britain’ which went on sale to the general public at that time. It was an Anthology of collected poetry that was intended to reflect the inner soul of the society of that day. It was multi-cultural and reflected work from the broadest possible section of 1970’s Britain – all ages, sexes, ethnicity, political or religious standpoints. The poetry although diverse only included works of a recognised literary standard and it became an important, historic and cultural record. I myself would love to obtain another copy.

The Oak Tree was the Final piece of the original collection that I wrote which included four other Poems that all together challenged the society of the time; social values, politics, law & order, police brutality and law enforcement, drug use and abuse, life experience including faith, religion and prejudice among other powerful issues. 

The Poems themselves were regrettably mislaid around 1973/74 and I have since made repeated attempts to rewrite them – if not word for word – then with the aim of capturing the same forthright views, the optimism, verve, colour and intensity that I remember they were so brim full of. I was 19/20 years old!

This piece, being the shortest of the five, holds a plainer meter and a more memorable lyrical content. It has always been the more personal, reflective and consequently most suitable finale to the Collection. I believe it is also the most accurately reconstructed of the Collection, finishing very close in both form and word to the original.

The point of the piece seems clear to me in that despite holding to a wider awareness and appreciation of the role of society, authority and government, it will always remain that ultimately it is our individual responsibility, our personal vision, our self-respect and quality of character when applied to the whole and in sufficient numbers that will determine if everyman, woman and child can attain a better standard of life and society. 

These re-written and now completed pieces I hope apply themselves to society today making them as pertinent, relevant and I hope profound as I believe the original collection were that I wrote 50 years ago

I have now entitled these Poems as my personal “Brave New World” Collection and the previous four re-writes have already been published on this Blog-site under the same heading. I offer this poem and the full Collection to you dear reader with my best and most heartfelt wishes! –   

                          edenbraytoday

Ref. 03062020

…

 

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Brave New World – MARMALADE TAXIS

BRAVE NEW WORLD

5 poems

#4

…

MARMALADE TAXIS

The Lost Poem

…   …   …

…

So Jim says he’s found a real cool line

Jim says those kinda things all of the time

So Jim-boy asks … then goes off in ‘my’ jalopy

No doubt in search of  some Tai Yuwan Poppy

I would never touch the immaculate ‘H’

Jim says he wouldn’t touch that shit either

…

Down the stairs in my mothers small kitchen

Today I met two people I didn’t even know

Out on the verandah,

Just a concrete path in a suburban jungle

I have time to watch the spider-mites play

Tiny red arachnida making crazy patterns on the path

While the sun burns hot on the nape of my neck

…

Jimmy, Jimmy O sweet Jimmy, you play it so cool

Your face is distorted on her bedroom wall

“Organic Wonderland” from a diamond needle

a little black tab,

the pupil in your eye,

an honest moment

in a black-star sky

Thats a great title 

for a night-time vigil

with Jimmy H, ‘H’ and I

…

I have this experience

I am rising up to the ceiling like a helium balloon

If you open up the window I might just drift away

Another time Tetris shapes

are dancing in my head, dancing round the organ

to the music coloured red, its a ‘Hammond’ organ

…

Helen is a nurse, she pierced my ear today

with a cauterised safety pin

she took from out her dress

I’m not sure where she’s been sleeping

its not been here with me

she’s sweet as must and angel dust

…

Our dog escaped the other day

she’d been living with my aunt

while my mother is away

The fuzz’ came round to our front door

with Umma Gumma playing

that’s not against the law

I freaked out, travelling on acid

stripped off all my clothes

just to show that I was placid?

So we flushed our ‘stash’

down the pan

a bag of Jamaican grass

and some excellent Moroccan

Mustn’t let them find me here

with drugs is what I prayed

the fuzz-man went,

my fears were then allayed

Have to talk with Jim-boy now

find out what he’s got

now ‘H’ went and swallowed

the whole fuckin’ lot

…

Poor Rod MacDonnel hasn’t slept now for days

keeps dropping speed, his life’s a purple haze

Worried about his boots, worried about his hair

he’s worried about Dave Bowie and if he’s really ‘there’

…

Swiss Muesli now for breakfast

crusty bread and apples

It’s now time for us to choose

what we put inside our body

We can think for ourselves

ask questions of authority

…

clausula

At the root of the stem in those living years

We were tempted to think we might have found some answers

By various people, like Huxley, Leary, Ginsberg and Kerouac

Living at the time did sometimes seem a lot easier

When you woke in the morning to greet the brand new day

The trees were all still breathing

and sometimes you just slept in your strides

They were white … everything was white … like white noise …

…   …   …

writtenbyedenbray8today

Ref. 02052020

…

~ 50 year anniversary ~

#Authors Note ~ This poem is the fourth that I have modelled closely on a series of five that I wrote around 1970. Marmalade Taxis could as easily be entitled The Lost Poem as it represents the only one I honestly cannot clearly recall.

Originally it would have been one of five diverse poems that were accepted for a published Anthology entitled something like – ‘This Britain’ which went on sale to the general public at that time. It was an Anthology of collected poetry that was intended to reflect the inner soul of the society of that day. It was multi-cultural and reflected work from the broadest possible section of 1970’s Britain – all ages, sexes, ethnicity, political or religious standpoints but the poetry although diverse and experimental included only works of a recognised literary standard and would become an important historic and cultural record of that era. I would love to obtain another copy.

The 4th Poem was the psychedelic piece of the five that I wrote which included four other Poems that together challenged the society of the time; social values, politics, law & order, police brutality and law enforcement, drug use and abuse, life experience including faith, religion and prejudice among other powerful issues.

Having no significant recall of this ‘lost poem’, I have taken the opportunity to write a semi-autobiographical pastiche that I hope reflects the time and the real ‘feel’ of  young people of that day, rather than the more jingoistic, clichéd, sixties rhetoric we are often presented with and that was in part encouraged by the song-writers and commentators of the time.

In reality, young men and women from all class groups suddenly found themselves experimenting with a freedom of lifestyle that most were ill-equipped to handle, including an indiscriminate use of hallucinogenic and sometimes unsafe mind-altering drugs like lysergic acid, along with mood-changing and unpredictable pharmaceuticals such as barbiturates, amphetamines and benzedrine and of course in some cases seriously addictive drugs such as cocaine and heroin. 

The Poems themselves were regrettably mislaid around 1973/74 and I have since made repeated attempts to rewrite them – if not word for word – then with the aim of capturing the same forthright views, the optimism, verve, colour and intensity that I remember they were so brim full of. I was 19/20 years old!

These re-written and now completed pieces I hope apply themselves to society today making them as pertinent, relevant and I hope profound as I believe the original collection were when I wrote them 50 years ago

I now call these Poems my personal “Brave New World” Collection and I hope to publish the remaining re-write on this Blog-site very shortly under that same heading. I offer them to you dear reader with my best, heartfelt wishes! –   

                          edenbraytoday

Ref. 02062020

…   …   …

Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds

written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney

Guest Poem

…   …   …
Picture yourself in a boat on a river
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies
Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly
A girl with kaleidoscope eyes
…
Cellophane flowers of yellow and green
Towering over your head
Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes
And she’s gone
…
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Ah
…
Follow her down to a bridge by a fountain
Where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies
Everyone smiles as you drift past the flowers
That grow so incredibly high
.
…
Newspaper taxis appear on the shore
Waiting to take you away
Climb in the back with your head in the clouds
And you’re gone
…
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Ah
…
Picture yourself on a train in a station
With plasticine porters with looking glass ties
Suddenly someone is there at the turnstile
The girl with kaleidoscope eyes
…
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Ah …   …   …

…

it was written in 1967

Track 3 of Sergeant Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band Album

by the Beatles

Posted in BRAVE NEW WORLD - 5 poems, edenbray POMES, Lyrics, PROG-PROSE, THAT'S ME IN THE MIDDLE | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Brave New World – CHRISTIAN

BRAVE NEW WORLD

circa. 1970

5 poems

#2

…

CHRISTIAN

the Sadducee

…   …   …

…

Fuzzed red circles of light

The angst of purple doubt and anger

The turmoil that fits within sins grasp

Attends to those born of conscience driven

But you knew none of these did you?

christian?

…

Never once you broke the mould

Or felt the urgent need your soul to bare

You never ventured there, so swathed, adorned

By duty, obedience, and safeties soft seclusion

So wrapped up in the glare, of your own selves 

importance

…

Feelings, pressed hard

and tightly against a glowering moon

It hangs inside that dawn that never sets

You never knew such thoughts of rage

(& disappointment)

Never stepped outside (or inside) the victims cage.

or wandered alone or scared

 

And if you did

That pale flesh, bloodshot morning

Taste the fruit of lust beneath your breath?

The more you bed your own wanton hypocrisy

Within your calm, perfect form and marbled history

~ christian?

…

compiled&writtenbyedenbraytoday

Ref. 1970/28052020

…

reference and addendums in prose – 2020 :

…

“and they were first called Christians at Antioch”

‘From that time, the disciples were first called Christians by the Antiochenes.’

– Acts of The Apostles 11:26 (Aramaic Bible in plain English)

“And when his disciples came to the other side, they had forgotten to take bread with them. And he said to them, “Take heed; beware of the yeast of the Pharisees and the Sadducees.” 

Matthew 16:5-6 (Aramaic Bible in plain English

…

addendum 1 

christian

Antioch

Society’s wicked melting pot, a melting pot seething?

A cauldron, volatile so ugly, a latent volcano of emotion?

Emptying from within, explosives lit, burning brightly?

christians?

Christ’s disciples

A name ‘they’ gave like any other

…

addendum 2

the ‘christian’

We all hate ‘the christian’, we all slate his integrity

His shapeless, righteous deeds, vacuum light and need

We all slate ‘the christian’, we all laugh the creed

The holy grail, the pilgrim trail, we hyenas, we natural dreamers

We laughing, cackling, hateful schemers

…

addendum 3 

No more the ‘believer’ will need to hide

In beds of white and linen

No more the proof he proffers

Of noble deeds to silence scoffers

He is creation, his ideas New

His beginning amidst the popular view

He has struggled as the limpid pupae

of some terrestrial force

and now born of an umber earth

Of rich, dark colours and subtle hue

not protected, nor frozen

in timeless space

But breathing fresh, the air of life

He may lay indeed exhausted

On his bed of ease and rest contented

Peace ~ pink heaven

…

writtenbyedenbray8today

Ref. 25/26052020

…

~ 50 year anniversary ~

#Authors Note ~ This poem is modelled on a piece I wrote around 1970. The christian was originally one of five diverse poems that were accepted for a published Anthology entitled something like – ‘This Britain’ which went on sale to the general public at that time. It was an Anthology of selected and collected poetry that was intended to reflect the inner soul of the society of that day. It was multi-cultural and reflected work from the broadest possible section of 1970’s Britain – all ages, sexes, ethnicity, political or religious standpoints but the poetry although diverse included works of a recognised literary standard and was intended to become an important, historic and cultural recorded document. I would love to obtain a copy.

christian was the 2nd piece of the five Poems I wrote that together challenged the society of the time; social values, politics, law & order, police brutality and law enforcement, drug use and abuse, life experience including faith, religion and prejudice among other issues. 

The Poems themselves were regrettably mislaid around 1973/74 and I have since made repeated attempts to rewrite them – if not word for word – then with the aim of capturing the same forthright views, the optimism, verve, colour and intensity that I remember they were so brim full of. I was 19/20 years old!

This latest attempt to capture the true vitriol of the original piece I have compiled from lines I remember from the original, extra notes, plus lines from previous attempts over the 50 years since I wrote the original. I have left this final attempt in the rawest state that I possibly could as that is how I remember the original.

I have included 3 addendums which again are compiled from previous attempts to resurrect the poem. I hope they balance the piece poetically within the construct of the time that I originally wrote christian ; the time when the term ‘christian’ was first coined (i.e. – its original historical meaning) ; and finally today’s society including my own current thinking, personal growth and appreciation of the subject. I have used this method to avoid disturbing the original punch of the piece. I suggest that the reader attempt to scratch away at the surface of the poem to understand the real focus of the piece. A clue in your scratching :- this is certainly not an anti-Christian or irreligious piece nor was it ever intended to be. This piece has been by far the most difficult of the five to work on and recreate.

These re-written pieces I hope will apply themselves to society today making them still pertinent, relevant and I hope as profound as I believe the original collection were that I wrote now 50 years ago

I have titled these Poems as my personal “Brave New World Collection” and hope to publish the remaining three re-writes on this Blog-site very shortly, under that same heading. They should hopefully remind us of a time when society stood at a crossroads much as we do today. It was I believe at the dawn of a time of optimism, hope and challenge. I offer them to you dear reader with my best, sincerest and most heartfelt wishes! – 

                          edenbraytoday

Ref. 28052020

…

For reference:

RED PEACE ~ PINK HEAVEN –

1st re-write attempt – written July 15th 1990 and posted ~ February 24th 2012 – Re-edited & posted ~ December 29th 2019 as part of an Edenbray retrospective

https://edenbray8.com/2019/12/29/edenbray-retrospective-30/…   …   …

…   …   …

Jessica Renea : Love the imagery and the expressions of frustration. All in a backdrop of natures tempestuous temper; a mix of anger and glory.

..

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Brave New World – everyman

BRAVE NEW WORLD

circa. 1970

5 poems

#1

…

everyman

… … …

…

everyman was born for this

this moment bright of sense, hope and reason

a borrowed spear, a salted tear, a kiss so soft and sweet

God, not fair as we count fair, went on ahead

left earth to spin, man to sin and virtue in a tin

I found it once, so well hidden

…

Who climbed the mountain top?

and saw a golden eagle soar, or heard the wild bear roar?

stepped inside a church to pray, asked a holy man the way?

when all we have is touch and feel and human love

the moment, the minute, the occasional sensation

I find its always so well hidden

…

and everyman must find the way

not born to pour his life away, when lost in indecision,

no time for God, no time for prayer, he finds the time to listen

the church may rob the soul, yet in the snow still glisten

but only God can make us whole, search deep within the soul

ignite the spirit given

…

Who first descended?

attended by some obscured, mutated passion?

the best dreams are often interrupted by the greyest, greenest mission

and everyman will have to choose his own particular obsession

or find within the joy of life, or learn the harshest lesson

they keep it so well hidden

…

everyman will reach journeys end

find their setting sun, finish then this marathon they run

and everyman is every woman, every child and every son

fractured vessels all, with tales of pain and valour, joy or squalor

everyman stands alone, a bit afraid of breathing now forever

darkness keeps this so well hidden

..

writtenbyedenbraytoday

Ref. 25/26052020

…

~ 50 year anniversary ~

#Authors Note ~ The poem is modelled on a piece I wrote around 1970. everyman was originally one of five diverse poems that were accepted for a published Anthology entitled something like – ‘This Britain’ which went on sale to the general public at that time. It was an Anthology of collected poetry that was intended to reflect the inner soul of the society of that day. It was multi-cultural and reflected work from the broadest possible section of 1970’s Britain – all ages, sexes, ethnicity, political or religious standpoints but the poetry although diverse included works of a recognised literary standard and became an important historic and cultural recorded document. I would love to obtain another copy.

everyman was the guide piece of the five I wrote which included four other Poems that together challenged the society of the time; social values, politics, law & order, police brutality and law enforcement, drug use and abuse, life experience including faith, religion and prejudice among other powerful issues. 

The Poems themselves were regrettably mislaid around 1973/74 and I have since made repeated attempts to rewrite them – if not word for word – then with the aim of capturing the same forthright views, the optimism, verve, colour and intensity that I remember they were so brim full of. I was after all just 19/20 years old!

These re-written and now completed pieces I hope still apply themselves to society today making them as pertinent, relevant and I hope profound as I believe the original collection were that I wrote 50 years ago.

I have titled these Poems my personal “Brave New World” Collection and I hope to publish the remaining four re-writes on this Blog-site very shortly under that same heading. They should hopefully remind us of a time when society stood at the dawning of a time of optimism, hope and challenge. I offer them to you dear reader with my best, sincerest and heartfelt wishes! –                           

edenbraytoday

Ref. 26052020

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