EDENBRAY in EXILE – 50 – the sentinel

Posted on May 12, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

#50 ~ 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

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

#Authors Note – It seems entirely incongruous yet at the same time entirely suitable that a piece I wrote on March 24, 2020, not 2 months ago should seem to have been written a lifetime ago and therefore a suitable final piece in a Retrospective Anthology of my work post-2013. The Poem itself was the last edenbray post before I embarked on the task of compiling this my 2nd Retrospective of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays.

The Sentinel itself has since been on a ‘virtual’ world tour these past 2 months and thanks to Word Press and Pinterest has visited and been viewed in nearly 100 countries and many hundreds of times. I surrender it to you now dear reader as I complete my journey through these 5o written pieces I value and offer to you for your consideration. I believe they cover as wide a vista of imagination and experience as one poor soul could muster in basically 7 short years. So, if you have travelled with me these past 2 months and read my extensive Authors Notes you are indeed a valued Amigo – Ciou & God bless you richly ~

edenbraytoday

#Original Authors Note 24.03.2020 – I have tried to write it all down in poetic prose – kind of an open journal of my scrambled, jumbled thoughts, hopes, prayers and honest observations. – This our current history – so fresh and now a puss-riddled, infected, open wound, so sore to touch and hugely contagious – rife! An embittered, venomous snake and yet still an invisible, silent foe. A conniving, insidious monster – to which we currently have no other response than to hide, skulk, dismantle our life patterns and almost the very infrastructure of our national history and our future.

Into January, 2020, this year, I will be frank, like many of us, I am not sure I had even heard of the title – Coronavirus, much less Corvid-19 or Wu-tang, Hubei Province, social distancing or of any one of the many terms and appreciation of our bronchial biology that I seem to know as if I had studied for it at one of the great seats of learning in this our nation that currently lies, eunoched and buried under the duvet, one eye scanning with suspicion any visitor, guest, relative or friend. Even Bamber Gascoigne would be turned away today from his Alma Mater as a potential harbinger and spreader of this evil bug.

The premise of this piece is that we will triumph, normal life will return to this our fairest Isle and although we will be the saddened, chastened, thankful and heroic people poetic romanticists like edenbray, like me and myself always believe us to be.

Let me introduce you then, to the sentinel – our own heroic version of an invisible warrior and a commander. A captain – he rides on an Arabian stallion, he is brave, stirring and true. He might be an archangel like Michael or a puritan and a soldier like Cromwell, a politician and leader like Hugh Gaitskill, Winston Churchill, Nyree Bevan or a preacher, bold and pure as a Charles Wesley, John Knox or Charles Sturgeon. Whoever he is, represents or reminds us of – he came to us at the right time – Pray then the Lord of Hosts He might send us a sentinel right now – for right now we need him!

edenbray ~ 24.03.2020

… … …

A further footnote

2nd March, 2020

Today I have decided to update this poster design I completed 50 years ago by adding some text relevant to the current situation.. . the unknown soldier .. . this was an early pastel sketch I completed for a poster back in the early 70’s. It was an idea inspired by a Doors song title of the same name .. . I always felt this image was kind of powerful, kind of haunting — We are at war with a deadly and invisible enemy and the weapons of our warfare are completely peaceful but used effectively WILL defeat our enemy Coronavirus … edenbraytoday

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EDENBRAY in EXILE ~ Retrospective Anthology of Poems, Articles and Essays – Post-2011 – The Final List of 50

Posted on May 11, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poems, Articles and Essays

Post-2011

~ The Final Selection of 50 Pieces ~

… … …

– Posted on https://edenbray8.com/

– between March 25 and May 12th, 2020 –

… … …

Love is Blue Poem Written 12.09.2013

Izon Poem Written 24.03.2019

Frank Zappa and the Velvet Underground Poem Written 27.08.2012

The Hibernian Poem Written 12.11.2012

A Black Satin Cloth Essay. Written 03.06.2012

Hydrate Poem Written 05.08.2012

The Hringhorni Poem Written 13.09.2012

Red Moon Poem Written 17.09.2012

its a bailey Memoir Written 09.10.2012

From Here To Eternity Poem Written 06.11.2012

What Did You See At The Movies? Poem Written 24.11.2012

If I Never Had Loved Poem Written 17.11.2012

The Long Drive Essay Written 06.03.2013

Bottle of Pop Poem Written 13.04.2013

Titan Poem Written 11.03.2013

Industry Specific Content Poem Written 24.04.2013

Concerning Andriose and Methuen – BDIII Poem Written 00.07.1991

its a bailey Memoir Written 16.10.2013

Gangster, Assassin, Spy Poem Written 26.09.2013

its a bailey Memoir Written 26.11.1988

Trains In The Night Poem Written 14.10.2013

Turquoise 3 Poem Written 21.05.2013

The Night I Discovered Football Poem Written 14.05.2013

i Sat With Eddie Poem Written 21.01.2013

Albion ~ The Rich Man’s Son Poem Written 16.09.2014

Spytone 1003 Poem Written 29.09.2014

‘Latrice, He Said – I Wanna’ Be Bob Dylan’ Poem Written 16.05.2013

Georges Roualt ~ An Appreciation Poem Written 10.02.2015

the Old Oak Tree Poem Written 00.00.1971

Reconfigure Poem Written 27.05.2014

The Flag Poem Written 02.02.2015

Honey Pot Poem Written 27.01.2017

The Willow Awl Poem. Written 02.03.2017

Natreana Poem Written 08.12.2015

Love Letters Poem Written 05.04.2014

Oldfield Poem Written 13.11.2016

Rejection Poem Written 26.03.2018

its a bailey Memoir Written 17.11.2017

Waves Poem Written 26.05.1990

Chrysalid Poem Written 26.04.2018

Perfecy Poem Written 07.04.2018

If Truth Were Told Poem Written 28.10.1989

30,00 Hits Under The Sea Article Written 06.02.2015

Yes, I’m Sure It Is Vermillion Poem Written 21.07.2018

My 4 Children Essay Written 10.04.2018

She Was Poem Written 01.06.2018

Jessica Madlala Poem Written 20.03.2018

Child Poem Written 24.10.2015

Arno’s Fire Poem Written 10.03.2015

Sentinel Poem Written 24.03.2020

… … …

‘I’ve always enjoyed writing and thats all I want to do…

I’m not sure why I ever stopped writing ~ was it 9/11?’

edenbraytoday

edenbray

… is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions. The effluence of my short life – I’m a Writer, Artist and Blogger ~ poems, essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment.

Authors Note : I have enjoyed being involved in the selection, re-editing, revised layout and in providing the extensive published notes accompanying these 50 written pieces, some of which I wrote over 40 years ago, one nearly 50 years ago but in the main – post 2011. The thing I notice in rediscovering them is that although my style and output has varied over the years it doesn’t take long for a certain friendly recognition to surface with each piece. They are like living milestones and they still evoke in me the feelings that prompted them when I wrote them. I do not feel I am a better writer than when I started writing seriously in 1966 although I do feel a bit wiser and a lot braver.

I always say that the writer is much like a cow in milk. Milk the cow regularly and she will continue to provide fresh milk for many years. I may have been pretty well milked already but I feel there is plenty more to squeeze out of these saggy old paps. Look out for my writing then in the future. Fondly ~ edenbraytoday 12.05.2020

cow .

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 49 – arno’s fire

Posted on May 11, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

🇮🇹

ARNO’S FIRE

…

. ..

The swollen Arno overflows, only the wicked river knows

A trail of umber sediment, borrowed nuggets of rose-gold

Beneath the merchants tables, its soft, princely belly gored

The flower of the Medici on laden, merchant-vessels moored

A tale told, a crucible of fire, bonfire of vanities, lust and desire

Firenze sleeps, artisans, courtesans both, purple, plush & bored

A cradle for a renaissance and Arno’s sacred arthouse store

. ..

writtenbyedenbray10.03.2015

GLOSSARY

Savonarola – Piero and the exile of the Medici: 1492-1494 – bonfire of vanities tuscany

…. … …

#Original Authors Note – 22.10.2017 – Abridged by edenbraytoday – I agree I have never been what you might call a rhyming poet or written what you might call poems of form that are open to exegetic or critical poetic analysis. No negative judgement is intended or implied on such poems, many of which I revere.

I have always tried to write in a more open style of prose. Perhaps ‘with a nod’ to the Beat-style writers & poets of the 60’s/70’s like Kerouac and Ginsberg, where feeling and emotion are more important than form although again all poetry should and must have a ‘form’ to be poetry, despite some of a more anarchic style who might disagree but even their work has a form even if sometimes it is harder to formally decipher..

I myself have suffered the occasional criticism for failings of ‘form’ and in a somewhat futile attempt to silence those critics of my work and address the inner demons who sometimes taunt, I entered a poetic society and whilst there, I entered this particular poem in a competition. It brought me much praise and some literally rave reviews from a few notable American poets who commented that it was and I quote ~ ‘the real thing’, which I admit I did find somewhat gratifying. O and I also received some criticisms – but hey, such is life. I am no longer a member of that society.

I actually like this piece because it seems to me, to meet the criteria of that competition very well and comments on the history of one of the world’s ‘great’ art cities – Florence in northern Italy.. I adore Italia and can’t wait to return and explore it still further.

I include it now as the penultimate selection in my 2nd Retrospective Anthology of Poems, Articles and Essays, out of sincere respect and reverence for Italia and the deaths they have suffered recently from the coronavirus – thank you for reading ~ edenbraytoday 🇮🇹 🇮🇹

What do you think of my poem by the way? – you are allowed to comment at this stage of the proceedings and in fact I welcome your criticism! ~ Ciou!

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 48 – child

Posted on May 10, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

CHILD

–

O’ weary me

O’ weary be

the sight of sun

the smell of sea

the yawn of death

the bite of flea

–

I give nothing

but a hand

a word, an arm

a coin, a kiss

the fanciful smile

a bared breast

–

O’ weary me

O’ weary be

the buzzing bee

a sight to see

and dangle thee

upon a knee

and so may we

hug our little children?

–

writtenbyedenbray24.10.2015

.

… … …

Authors Note : I return to a much earlier style in this piece I wrote in October, 2015, more akin to my writing in the 70’s and 80’s

I have included it here as the 48th submission in my 2nd Retrospective for its simplicity and poignancy in detailing a parents view of their children and the unnecessary questions society asks of natural affection in the 21st Century but also as due to coronavirus – so many parents, grandparents and loved friends cannot hug ‘their’ children right now. ~ edenbraytoday

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 47 – jessica madlala

Posted on May 10, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

Jessica Madlala

***

I never had cause to doubt her

Her smile could open gates

Dress crabs, light fires and keep me warm at night

She smelled of sandalwood it seemed to me

Certainly some natural spice, warm and tasty

It was her natural way that was charming

While innocent, she knew the ways to please

***

Never at a loss for humour, she giggled like a drain

Her smile could lift the darkest mountains

and throw them wholesale into the sea

She could paddle a dugout and spear a big-eyed Tuna

Catch a Spotted Grunter and bake its delicious white flesh

On the briefest, cutest barbecue you ever did see

That she built of twigs and dried leaves so carefully

***

She would listen to me for hours and hours patiently

Her smile melted frozen rivers that never reach the seA

She was always more than a woman to me

But when the Bulls Eye Squall came that day

Or any other, not like any other, my handsome brother

Jessica herself took off and was gone

and she took the plaited shawl I gave her

***

writtenbyedenbray20.03.2018

***

#Authors Note : This Poem concerns an ongoing theme that has fascinated me ever since I saw the 2nd Film Portrayal of Mutiny On The Bounty, the 1960’s blockbuster starring Marlon Brando as Fletcher Christian who leads a mutiny of seamen against the austere and cruel Captaincy of Captain William Bligh The mutineers run their ship aground just off-shore to a paradise Island of Tahiti where Christian meets and falls in love with the Chiefs daughter. The film poses some interesting questions around cross-cultural and mixed-race relationships. Questions challenged in an earlier piece I wrote entitled Herdy Praeshen

HERDY PRAESCHEN

This Poem takes up the same theme of that earlier, slightly heavier and more serious short story and presents it in this fun, lighter edition. Hope you enjoy! edenbraytoday

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OUR WORLD SO SICK!

Posted on May 9, 2020 by edenbray

OUR WORLD SO SICK!

… … …

FB_IMG_1587821917368

… … …

I took a walk today down where the buzzards play

Drifting in and out of the fuzzy clouds golden grey

And the truth they say is all around you,

thinking about it blinds you

Theres always someone to tell you what you ought to know

…

Shadowed bundles of grass stacked up in a corner of a field

The sun in my eyes consistently strong is orange, out of range

Not everything in our world is sick and sad, dying and strange

Field grasses laid out in rows are green and the river is brown

…

On the day I decided to write it all down

the disharmony

In a paper book with an elastic band and a few damp pages

I’ve taken to crying a lot lately but it could just be the jar

Or the curtains that wont hang together when its dark

…

It was an old, mottled, reddish-brown pen, with a golden clip

Like my grandfather would have carried in his inside pocket

Filled from a bottle of blue-black with a rubber topped stopper

The short, tainted lever was hard to pull, stuck fast in its casing

…

I’m fond of old people they carry our history in a khaki back-pack

Living out their salad days, they tell us stories in different ways

Our world so sick and sad right now is not dying,

Sick like a sailors parrot

There were two buzzards circling above the path where I walked today

…

I finally got to write it down on the plain, wetted paper

The sun had gone in and the ink ran in the warp and the woof

By this time things like that didn’t seem so important anymore

Not as important as old people dying, not important like that

writtenbyedenbray07.05.2020

…

sick like a sailors parrot

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 46 – she was

Posted on May 9, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

She was …

She was

Caught between two schools, or stools,

Of thought and age, of custom and practice,

Wrested from her sex, hers and the image

Her culture and influence, shocking!

Amy’s tallow flickered in the half light

Of obscurity and fame, never to blame,

Like a candle that was losing oxygen,

Passion, control, will or shapeless form

She was beef or mutton fat smeared

Her broken notes, her Jewish nose,

Her tumbled hair taught, ripped clothes

Scarred, branded, tossed – she cared

Her pretty breasts worn – she bared

Like her coloured voice, she hung out

In Vermillion with lace, poisoned by grace

Mounted tall those sensational legs,

Just postmen’s pegs by the trippings

And we saw her bare and rare, a rose

Poured out, champagne flute tumbling

Proud, firm, sex-full, hard and glistening

Every dry eye in the place erect, listening

Some, those haters, never tried even whistling

She broke in the wind, fermenting, barley laden

All too late, the pearls, the taxi, the applause

When laid to rest she sang Ava Maria, we cried

She was …

..

.. writtenbyedenbray01.06.2018


: Proud, firm, sex-full, hard and glistening

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

#Authors Note – Edenbray promised a few fireworks, a couple of trailing, shooting stars, a lightening show, a rumble of thunder and skyrockets – yes, he promised skyrockets – a fanfare, a crescendo – in these 5 final submissions to my 2nd Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays.

This piece seeks to capture the essence, the raw appeal, the creative kernel of an exceptional, performing artist whose flirtation with life burned itself out far too early. Amy Winehouse’s talent and a tendency to drift towards her own personal dependencies constantly threw her into the limelight, like a moth that is drawn toward the light for both creative and ultimately detrimental reasons. Having grown and developed through all the hard work and those complex, creative stages, she finally reached her time to blossom and perform but it was all, far too short lived. ~ edenbraytoday

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 45 – my 4 children

Posted on May 8, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

My Four Children

unfinished Opus

…

thor

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

I wrote a play once for my 4 children

I gave them special names

to match their characters

Sarallius, Debradella,

Warrickolius, and Michelangelo

They were to be as Norsk Gods

but more than Mythical Beings

Like Shakespearian characters

in our true tale of life

Before many had even heard of Thor,

son of Odin

Larger than life,

My dear wife bore them to us both

and I loved them with the purest father’s heart

Did not possess or control them,

even when my soul it ached

I tried to give them freedom,

which is the foundation of all joy

Did not burden them

with the sins of our fathers

Although I would have fought

to the death against any

Who would disrespect or threaten them,

diminish them in any way

You keep this hidden:

the teeth of the protector,

the wolf-parent

Like an Arkhala, Bagheera or a Baloo –

You want only the best for them

… … …

I never finished that tale and soon

they began to write their own

and before too long from the nest they all had flown

It always happens quicker than you want,

your greatest, nagging fear

I tried so valiantly, gallantly to say

the things that they should hear

But somehow you never do it all,

believing there will be time a’plenty

To say it later when that perfect moment

comes, that never does

And you’re always a little sad as you wrestle

with what’s good and bad

I long for my children to be what I’m not,

to have what I didn’t

And to be happy with nowt’,

wrapped in that purest consolation ~

Nothing can take away the prayers

a loving mother or a father prays

Those things, those matters,

those tortured cries and tears stay on

Written in the stone, carved in heavens clouds

where they belong

And angels bear them to their maker

and sing their own special song

It is a unique joy to know you have birthed

children to this world

And for each the Loving Father has a unique ensign,

bright, bold and unfurled

… … …

writtenbyedenbray10.04.2018

… … …

#Authors Note ~ Write about what you know, they say. Its a proven key to successful writing, they say, This piece is pretty self explanatory. I wrestled with the idea of whether I should include it in my 2nd Retrospective Anthology as it is a bit raw, kind of unpolished – to my mind anyway, but the last six submissions in my ’50’ – might well include some shocks and hopefully a few pleasant surprises – There is no point in being coy as a writer – Sometimes you have to dig deep and bear your soul. As the Copystat Manager in the 24-Hour Copyshop says to Jerry Maguire, who is printing his self-revealing Memo to the Company, in the film of the same name – ‘Sometimes you have to hang your balls out there man’.

The idea is – sometimes we don’t finish things we meant to do, sentences we meant to say. This then is my Unfinished Opus in its basest human shape. This is for my kids … Sarah, Deborah, Warwick and Michael – Love you – DaD ~ edenbraytoday

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 44 – yes i’m sure it is vermillion

Posted on May 7, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

Yes, I’m Sure It Is Vermillion …

~ ~ ~

I had spent at least an hour in this hot mustard, salad-sun

While two small flies made circles around my sweaty head

The August corn waving tall and tidy, a yellow sea, swollen

When I found the end of a pencil and started to scribble

…

I lifted my arm to give blood to my shoulder throbbing

Staring at the sticky mess both khaki, crimson and the sun

Woken from a tortured dream, there flying a lost bird sightless

Braver than a pitman’s pony, it sang one note of surprising joy

…

Sound, a silent witness dressed in uniform still buttoned to the neck

The dazed expression of my dead friend who lay beside me quietly

I dreamed of thee dear Jenny as we lay, your left breast in my hand

That had been a better day when I lay inside you, I did not wear a glove

…

This paper in my closed hand is blotted now with a trail of palest red

Cold the breeze that made me shiver, whispers this soldier is not dead

In the foggy, bloody haze, a picture forming of colour, of fire and light

Beyond the battle-scarred high-ground, smeared in shit-brown sienna

…

Beyond these moments where I have lain with only dead people

For these past two hours, I open a box of paints, I select a palette

The stench of mud drying, nauseating & honest, the night air falling

Upon this brow, it says I cannot hope to see the morning or the tide turn

…

And Jenny in my thoughts, soft and warm, her flesh like life, not death

Here hidden in this cancer of man’s regret I daub the crimson patina

Upon this tunic, it lays heavy now a sodden wretch, thus portrait cold

Yes, I’m sure it is vermillion – that colour no nearer orange than to red

…

writtenbyedenbray21.07.2018

~ ~ ~

WWI

We remember your life and the real death of so many. Your sad, sad demise.

~ ~ ~

Author’s Original Note : It is the Anniversary this year of the end of the 14-18 War. The most hellish War known to modern man. I wanted to write something you could step inside & experience. I have no real idea, a few of us might have some slight idea of what dying in the trenches in that God-awful war was like. This is how I chose to visit that dreadful war in 1918 by using just a few words to describe a picture and then leave some suggested artist marks where the picture might go.

The central character of this piece is some poor boy drifting slowly into eternity’s light as the vermillion ebbs steadily from his body. Friendless and alone among the dead and dying, he remembers some sweet moments of his life and scribbles them on a scrap of bloodstained paper with the butt of a pencil he finds in his khaki, tunic, breast-pocket. He remembers the intimacy of making love to his darling Jenny and the pleasure he had in selecting colours from his paint box when painting a picture. We should always remember the best moments of our lives they may be the only consolation we have on our own deathbeds. Goodnight sweet boy with your vermillion rosy cheeks I can see you in my mind’s eye. edenbray ~ 24.07.2018

~ ~ ~

#Authors Extra Note : As you will see from the Authors Original Note, this poem was actually written in 2018 to commemorate the 100th Anniversary of the end of the Great War of 1914-18,

It is included in the 2nd Edenbray Retrospective to commemorate the Anniversary of V.E. Day ~ Lest we forget the sacrifice of our British and Allied forces War Dead.

We are charged however at this time of Pandemic by the heroism of that whole World War II Generation when we consider the heroism we are seeing today within the NHS and so many other areas and so this Piece carries a double-edged sword both of #respect for that War Generation and the Battle we face today against this silent, invisible and lethal foe.

~ edenbraytoday

~ ~ ~

PANTONE 1795 U

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 43 – 30,000 hits UNDER THE SEA

Posted on May 6, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

… … …

‘30,000 HITS under the sea’

(or a certain kind of nonsense)

The writer stepped out of the boat, his boat, on 12.12.2010 and like Jesus or was it King Canute who stood and commanded the waters ‘Stop, come no further’? I walked, I swam, I sank in the flooding waters of social networking while I hastily googled – ‘How to make an ark’ – as those very technological waters lapped around my ankles. I soon learned with 6,489 other viewers on a You-tube instructional video, posted by a guy called Norris, who lives way out-of-town near Baltimore in Maryland USA, just how easy not, making an Ark can be.

I think it is one of the crimes of the aged, who recognise supposed ‘medical loss of memory’ makes a great let-out for saying the most ill-founded, illogical and controversial nonsense. Generally, rational society forgives infants, the infirm and the elderly for errors of opinion and fact. Seniors can be razor-quick to take advantage of this and allow relevant gaps in their sentences to add weight to the notion that what they are saying, however apparently half-baked, should be given more credence due to the march of time ~ let’s not say ‘senility’ please.

Of course it was actually Jesus who walked on water, Canute who spoke to the water, unsuccessfully. It was Moses who spoke to the water – successfully and Noah who built a big, wooden boat and called it an ‘ark’.

It was, however, Captain Nemo who in many ways topped the lot by building a sea-craft, the Nautilus, that descended under the water and down to unknown depths to explore the mysteries of the deep. … relevant gap … While I assume at this point you may well indeed be unclear whether I recognise what is indeed fact or fiction, you are at least ‘hanging in’ there with me … That assumed, I may continue, fairly confident that I have managed to at least half deliver a major hoodwink to you, my dear readers.

Jules Verne imagined a genius inventor with a troubled conscience who embraced the future while repressing the past, never an easy skill and one that eventually did him no favours as he comes off in our thinking as somewhere between psychopath and megalomaniac. Without a doubt, he can be considered dangerously crazy even with hindsight and that view could not be construed overstated or a harsh social character analysis.

On the positive side, Captain Nemo embraced future technologies and sought to conquer an alien environment. Something usually admired by humankind, who hold explorers and pioneers in very good esteem. ~ i.e. – Christopher Columbus, the Wright brothers, Scott and Amundsen, David Livingstone, Uri Gagarin, Armstrong and Aldrin, Ferdinand Magellan.

When this writer stepped from his wee yoal, named the ‘Dubious Notoriety’ and into that great sea of technology’s effluence and began to float, sink, swim, flounder, he held no great pretensions other than the sincere desire to set his sail as best he could and stay afloat for at least a short while, whilst also tending to his vessel, whatever form that took, within the mainstream or possibly the wake of society’s newfound cyberspace. Nothing as grandiose as Mr Noah’s unique craft you understand or as technologically wonderful as Captain Nemo’s Nautilus but for all that, the writer felt, a certain draught of pioneer spirit attended his flow and so he ventured on and on and continues to do so by golly, bit by bit, hit by hit, blog by blog, site by site and ocean by symbolic ocean.

This week, edenbray’s original site – entitled imaginatively – edenbray

link ~ https://edenbray.wordpress.com/ – clocked up it’s 30 thousandth viewing or ‘hit’ (Blog Stats : View Top Right Corner to authenticate).

That, in a way, represents **30,000 hits under the sea. The sea** of social networking that is and certainly, the equivalent of 30,000 Leagues for me, as I continue my own personal circumnavigation of the social networking Arena – just trying my damn-dest to make a name for myself ~ edenbray the writer. Maybe just a tiny bit like Sir Francis Chichester? Ellen MacArthur? and good old Ferdinand Magellan?

Ferdinand by the way, was the first one to achieve that particular feat? Now you didn’t like NOT knowing who he was ~ now did you?

writtenbyedenbray06.02.2015

#Note – By the way – I did realise the film was titled ‘20,000 Leagues’ – but hey, did you not know there was also a sequel with the predictable title ~ ‘30,000 Leagues – Under The Sea’!? – I demand recognition!

Posted in edenbray APPRECIATION, edenbray COMMENT, edenbray ESSAYS, EDENBRAY in EXILE - A RETROSPECTIVE, edenbray MEMOIRS, edenbray OPINION | Tagged 20000 LEAGUES, CAPTAIN NEMO, HOODWINK, NAUTILUS, WRITING | Leave a comment

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

#50 ~ THE SENTINEL

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‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poems, Articles and Essays

Post-2011

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edenbray

… is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions. The effluence of my short life – I’m a Writer, Artist and Blogger ~ poems, essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment.

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‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

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ARNO’S FIRE

writtenbyedenbray10.03.2015

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‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

CHILD

O’ weary me

O’ weary be

the sight of sun

the smell of sea

the yawn of death

the bite of flea

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I give nothing

but a hand

a word, an arm

a coin, a kiss

the fanciful smile

a bared breast

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O’ weary me

O’ weary be

the buzzing bee

a sight to see

and dangle thee

upon a knee

and so may we

hug our little children?

–

writtenbyedenbray24.10.2015

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‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

Jessica Madlala

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OUR WORLD SO SICK!

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‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of 50 Poems, Articles and Essays

She was …

She was

Caught between two schools, or stools,

Of thought and age, of custom and practice,

Wrested from her sex, hers and the image

Her culture and influence, shocking!

Amy’s tallow flickered in the half light

Of obscurity and fame, never to blame,

Like a candle that was losing oxygen,

Passion, control, will or shapeless form

She was beef or mutton fat smeared

Her broken notes, her Jewish nose,

Her tumbled hair taught, ripped clothes

Scarred, branded, tossed – she cared

Her pretty breasts worn – she bared

Like her coloured voice, she hung out