EDENBRAY in EXILE – 13 – the long drive

Posted on April 7, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

THE LONG DRIVE

california 76

… … …

‘Pietri, I say Pietri you are the sweetest boy a’ the three’

He mumbled something inaudible in return

He was sure, stripped to the waist and sweating

The sun scratching at him, a muzzled curr on heat

Black scars to his bronze back say a lot more than his drawl

‘Misters Paul and Danno I ain’t got no more energy in ma’ tank’

He gripped the oily wrench and pushed down hard

Breaking the seal and finishing with a toss of greasy, black hair

‘It sure is hot ma’ boy you deserves a cool, long drink’

A skunk lizard scrambled across the yard and the sky hung holy

As a bhoy I had eaten one of tham damn thangs, cooked on grass and stones

All I could think of today was bloody steak, red an’ like a woman’s hole 

‘You be okay now Misters, I’ll write you a ticket.’

I handed the boy a twenty and told him not to trouble

‘You just tell that mean bastard I called in for gas that’s all!’

‘Cos you know that it’s more than juss’ lizards are watching us speak’

The boy wiped his hands on a raw cloth hanging from his grey overalls 

He had the sweetest face I thought, ripe and sallow like a Coachela Valley date

It glistened strong and thoughtful as he accepted another note for the gas 

He retreated to the shade of the wooden outhouse to fetch change

I heard the cry of a red-shouldered hawk shoot across the flat lands

Which sends ice down my cerebral nerve, arrests me, waking my soul

Once heard a bluejay mimic that same sound but he was juss’ too ornery

The boy had returned and he took time returning my fourteen cents

I always knew I had spent too much damn money keeping that ve-hikle perky

We drove that road with that birds call cooler than a minty mohito stretched on ice

T’was the only cold thing about that day I returned to Bakersfield County

Parked up my night-green Lincoln in the lane that led to our father’s house

.

writtenbyedenbray06.03.2013

                         edited24.02.2017

..

#Authors Note ~ This is yet another opening salvo selected from either a Short Story, a Chapter in a Novel, or an Essay, you choose …. When I was at school we were taught to write essays – with 3 paragraphs including an Introduction, the Heart of your story and a Conclusion… 

This piece is more of a Poetic Essay – where timing and tenor are important. I sometimes wonder if children today even know what a Poem is but that sounds like I am too old to care – Thanks for reading again today:                                                                 edenbraytoday

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TO AN ATHLETE DYING YOUNG – A.E.Houseman

Posted on April 6, 2020 by edenbray

henry-ryland-maiden-with-a-laurel-wreath

To an Athlete Dying Young

GUEST POEM

BY ALFRED EDWARD HOUSEMAN

 

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
Today, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears.
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.
.
.
Source: The Norton Anthology of Poetry Third Edition (1983)
..
..
Edenbray Comments – If not for anything more than its consistent ability to make me cry – when read aloud by the adorable Karen von Blitzen (as played by Meryl Streep) – over the grave of her departed lover Dennis Finch-Hatton in the wondrously romantic movie adaption of her life story – the 1985 film – Out Of Africa, directed so sensitively and memorably by the late, great – Sydney Pollack.
But of course apart from all that – A.E. Housemans piece is one of my absolute favourites.
~ edenbraytoday

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 12 – if i had never loved

Posted on April 6, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

IF I HAD NEVER LOVED

confetti

. . .

If I had never loved and felt that nauseous pang

Nor wanted, nor desired, nor rung my heart with its devotion

Or followed blindly, desperate only to convince 

of loves sincerity, of loves virginity, of loves authenticity

If I had never caught myself, lost in reverie

my mind slaved and blurred by loves insanity

my head shaved and burned of all its mediocrity

Or tumbled, humbled, stumbled mercilessly

wearing only the tattered vestment of star-crossed youth,

the branded sign of passions passage

which is a heap of burnt-eared corn,

a bloated starfish, an abandoned mine

If I had cared less or thrown daisies

from a speeding car window

then today I would float unhappily

toward that thunderous, fascinating weir,

Not hold a pocket full of yellow, paper confetti

Nor smell a warm kiss or the fragrance from an open window

..

writtenbyedenbray17.11.2012

.

#Authors Note ~ Not an advert for love at all is this one – more like a warning to those of a finer disposition – Enter the world of passion and love at your peril for it will change you, scar you, significantly alter you. I have to acknowledge that this piece also seems to have crept out of my more feminine corner and will not retire very soon, although if we are seriously going to attempt some self-psychoanalysis today then certainly that particular observation does not really take myself by surprise.

There can quite often be a nod to the yang rather than the ying in my work as the more sincere devotees of this BLOG should be able to quietly affirm, but while checking this piece for points of grammar and spelling and originally for some unknown reason – that most beautiful moment came into my head from the film ~ ‘Out Of Africa’ where Karen von Blitzen played by Meryl Streep reads a verse from a poem written by Alfred Edward Houseman over the grave of her departed lover – Dennis Finch Hatton.

And round that early-laurelled head

Will flock to gaze, the strengthless dead,

And find unwithered on its curls

The garland briefer than a girl’s.
                                                                                                             .. excerpt
.

Now, it finally struck me, as to why that occurrence did occur and it is of course for the very nature of A.S. Houseman’s more feminine observation. It seems on reading my Poem back through, that I felt I had recognised a writer of a kindred-spirit.

Love is such a powerful force – who would wish to miss that magical Theme Park ride?

..

.. ‘If I had never loved’ 

..
 edenbraytoday

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 11 – what did you see at the movies?

Posted on April 5, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

…

WHAT DID YOU SEE AT THE MOVIES?

livingmoviestills4

⧻

I watched a realtime movie

with trained people playing parts

Technicolour moments caught on cellulose,

just butterflies in pins

Each life a memory, a family, a beginning

a fellows story and a framed end

They earned there ‘fourteen minutes’

and a picture in a rice-paper notebook

Wrote a burned monologue,

drew a vandyke sketch,

sang & danced with the marionettes 

Salad-maise dressing to lives lived

in the beam of studio lights,

and a game of penuckle 

In all these faint recollections

the absence of detail is frightening

The outline of space describing the seven planets

and the fingers of a child

All of these – the traces that meant something

very real and auburn tangible

To so many, to so few but who now

like leaf-lawn tributes

send skyrockets to the sky

Reminding those of us ‘wee dreamers’ who listen

that in a handful of marbles

You will always find that one special plainsee,

a beachball or maybe a lutz

⧻

marbles_110

writtenbyedenbray24.11.2012

..

#Authors Note – As with most items I am currently adding to this 2nd Retrospective of my work, we must constantly encounter the painful reality that many of the things we would normally take for granted and that I may have written about historically are now part of a material world that is slowly changing and has in many ways been ‘put-on-hold’ even if temporarily. 

You almost feel the need to provide a burden of proof alongside the subjects raised before one can honestly expect the reader to even begin to read, understand or review the writing or prose itself.

That problem is certainly evident when discussing this latest offering that I wrote in November, 2012. As the subject of the piece kind of revolves around the Movies and/or ‘Going to the Movies’ ? Of course it is vital we hang on to our memoirs and memories of  our delayed culture awaiting the News and the all-clear for us to move on with our lives.

Setting aside those more metaphysical issues – the strange thing is that the tone and question of the piece now actually present a new angle to the object of the verse and provide a kind of post-apocalyptic poignancy to its tenor and the probing question – Well, What did You See? Somehow, it seems to have added something that wasn’t there before and that is why I have included it in my collection.

Please read, make your own mind up about it and do your best to comment below, thanks.                                                                                                                                         edenbraytoday

                                                      

 

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 10 – from here to eternity

Posted on April 4, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

…

FROM HERE TO ETERNITY

AMERICAN CAR

…

This avenue of shredded lust and half caught moments

               collecting inked postcards of another life

A life lived in the glare of neon night and grey-green shutters

              that open to the sight of beautiful birds and laurel

Or an ashen pony grazing in the shadows of Waldeck Mountain

              where sail those winter skiers lonely

And Betsy Martini who showed her left breast to me once as a favour

              but only for a lie I told that saved her blushes

On another day so brazen like the gold leaf laden on ‘our Lady’s’

              statue at that wee church near Finnegan’s Moor

Yet decked in red and chromium contrived, she would not tire of

              gracing the sun and my open-top Oldsmobile

So splendid a sight, so blanche and tireless, a rutting doe,

             so forward in turns and geared, flowing manoeuvres

That famed iron lung now catching water-stained butterflies

             and leaving trails, flumes of multi-coloured markers

A winter hearse, a summer ‘sporty’, the rollover of a life less shallow,

             tired out from the tunnel, dark and buzzing

If I could snatch her up and take her to a royal view,

            translate the mood of blue to the colour of her natural hair

Her soft pearled eyes have lived through thoughts of both

          a simply better day and her honest Scouter vision

But Diana of Versailles could not have taken longer,

         while she swam effortlessly the Levy line that laps the rusty bridge

Or collected shells from the sand near to Bell Hop Ridge

          where those summer birds with the long slender bills feed

And walk so gracious without fear, like my very own lady Guinevere,

          so benevolent, so kind, with settled mind

She the princess to my chagrin steps, the marvellous reason

          why honour is best buried in the purse of grace

…

writtenbyedenbray06.11.2012

                                                                                                            edited04.04.2020

..

crashing-wave-clip-art_430626

#Authors Note ~ Up to now I have commented candidly on each piece presented in this my 2nd Published Anthology of Poems, Articles and Essays but in reviewing this particular Omnibus of a Poem that is so full of illusion and suggestive verse I admit to being initially a little coy.

I can recognise some of the images which are hidden like sign-post clues within the long grass beside the dunes where Lancaster and Donna Reed played and displayed enough passion and reckless abandon for a lifetime to help bring home no less than 9 Academy Awards  for the Fred Zinnemann – 1954 film of the same title.

I admit, it is a tale of massive allusion, biographical in detail enough to provide the drive in the writing for some pretty powerful layering of lines that follow – one upon the other, like the crashing waves of a pretty randy sea. I will not hide behind a windbreak of false humility or modesty when I say that personally I loved writing it and only chose the title after it was completed. I love it because at such harsh times as these we need every ounce of passion and excitement the wind may spray in our faces and because it finishes so perfectly with one of the best lines I personally have ever read and certainly ever wrote.  Hope you love it!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  ~ edenbraytoday

 

‘She, the princess to my chagrin steps, the marvellous reason

          why honour is best buried in the purse of grace’

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 9 – its a bailey

Posted on April 3, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

.

◉◉◉

.

its a bailey … using no traditional punctuation

…

A SWO PPET

a swopit knight on horseback

… blur   the pop group   blur   produced an album called modern life is rubbish  ◉     there are so many things about life today that are rubbish   that get us depressed and low   ◉   am i the only one who remembers life as a simpler study   ◉   who remembers certain childhood memories with a desperation and an overwhelming longing to be walking to school again   eight years old in wellington boots while ribbons of frost hang from the park woods and spiders webs glisten    swaying in the soft breeze and the morning sun   ◉   i am eight years old and there is no perceived threat   no one as far as i know has learned that word   paedofile   goddam those perverts   ◉   i love the crunching noise my boots make in the fresh fallen snow and looking back breathing clouds   to see the trail i   and only i have made across that wonderful grassy   but for today white parkland that i was so lucky enough to enjoy as a child   ◉   my brother had played a roundhead in a pageant for the anniversary of my childhood school   ◉   he and a pal had to run from the oak woods to the pond at the lower end of that same local park   for a cavalier to shoot him with a replica musket   it produced a sharp crack that resounded across the park to where we all stood watching    a puff of grey smoke came from the gun and my brother had to fall like a dead man wearing his realistic roundhead helmet suede tunic   brown  baggy britches and thigh high leather boots   ◉   i was so proud of my brother that day and so sad that he had fallen in battle   ◉   i was almost as proud of him as that day he bought me a swoppet knight on horseback at the local toy shop when i was 5 years and heard i was going into hospital to have my adenoids removed   ◉   this was just days after christmas and we walked together for probably the only time that day in the dark evening to the toy store   right next to that same gorgeous park and those same adorable woods that i walked through to school every morning  ◉   the toy shop was owned by a tall   happy   man whose head was shiny   like jupiter ◉   he had a mellow rich voice   a happy chuckle and a glint in his eye   ◉   i sorta loved that man and my visits to his shop   ◉   i could say that then and will still say it now also because i dont believe he was a jimmy saville   or a lecherous beast   ◉   modern life sure is rubbish   …

…  its a bailey  …   october 9 2012 writtenbyedenbray

◉

A ROUNDHEAD

◉◉◉

◉

its a bailey … using no traditional punctuation

…

#Authors Note:  I have never had much of a problem thinking outside of the box as a writer, believing it is the writers privilege to occasionally make new rules, stretch the truth, embellish the action, colour inside the story lines and maybe join a few extra dots here and there.

I have also considered normal punctuation at times a tiresome bind, especially when writing poetry and so when the idea popped into my head to attempt my own version of punctuation I decided I would give it a try in a collection of poetic memoirs I wrote and entitled ~ Bailey’s ~ to add a kind of Dickensian, literary quality to these brief but informative, starkly honest, thumbnail recollections of early events in my life.

Other than that, the stories should speak for themselves, as hopefully you will find the punctuation does. Watch out for no capitals, comers or full-stops, small pause spacers and the bullet-point long-pause paragraph markers. Other than that please enjoy! 

   edenbraytoday

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 8 – red moon

Posted on April 2, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

RED MOON

… … …

543733_19791065

…

◓

I whispered sweet words to the moon

and the sun glowered red and full of envy

I walked on top of walls, humming forgotten tunes

I had learned when I was young

I craved for ice cream, bought picture postcards

and ran splashing in sand puddles

My oldest thought was ‘Damn, is this day dying

and it has only just begun?’

‘I must remember to get up early in the morning

and make friends again with that coldest sun’

Melon, aspic and iced water – I made the mistake

of staring back at that old rubber balloon

Bouncing around in the mirror of winter’s cobalt sky

so high, so blushed, so easy on the eye

My sweet Alexandra, Dianthe, Helene, sirens three

maiden companions waiting out in the open sea

 They escort the swells and their assault upon star-

carved lovers – letters in their black ebony souls

The soft, wooly hearth of my true loves heart

so open, raw o’-red, nestled in our future bed

We just orphans of this love-lost earth now bridled

by our common lust, inflamed and swollen

Nature’s guardians of our future fate with words

we wrote together in the face of shame

Forgetful of the sadness, anguish, travail

that lovers learn and wear so bravely

Yet we surely the pierced ears bloody of our

current flag, our romance, passions sorbet

Yes, we do not forget our wanton dancing

nor how to laugh – symbolic, poetic, carnal, free

I now a lovers master where Seville oranges,

champagne, sheets fragrant and cotton down

Do tend a narrow garden, wipe out your sorry pain

and the wind gusting covers this captains frown

n

.

writtenbyedenbray17.09.2012

.

sunrise

                                                    

This rivals the song of Solomon! And echoes the book of Ecclesiastes. Youth worn and beheld like an old penny in a lost pocket. I love the use if all five senses and the feeling of walking alone and remembering. – Jessica Renea 19.09.2012

#Authors Note ~ The Red Moon is a Celebration of Life, Freedom and Pleasure – It originally seemed to me, when considering whether it should be included in my latest Retrospective Anthology, somewhat incongruous to re-post in relief – such a liberal expression of fun-filled, romantic and personal freedom and at this most restrictive and sad time in our currently virus-affected and constrained lives but then, as always, I rallied and decided nevertheless we need to be reminded of our ‘normal’ lives before we forget what they were and also to honour those sick and dying who today would love to remember, if they could, with fondness – times of joy-filled freedom. We dishonour them if we did not at least try to remember happier days that we hopefully shall all see again. Please read, try to enjoy and if you do then please leave a quiet ‘like’ for me below.     Thanks ~ edenbraytoday

‘Joie de Vivre’ 

…

 I made the mistake

of staring back at that old rubber balloon

Bouncing around in the mirror of winter’s cobalt sky

edenbray

 

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 7 – the hringhorni

Posted on April 1, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

The Hringhorni

…

Ψ

I missed the holocaust but not too late for Al Qaeda’s fate

The misery of the human condition travels on a broken wing

A grey-brown sparrow fluttering briefly to avoid cats palm

Rescued from its pain by the skill of a bloodied hawks jaw

♠♤

Two brothers slept that night on a straw palias or a minks pelt

Father John heard the tail of one whilst t’other lay with a counts virgin

The story so full of deceit that the iron priest blushed blood

And was said to stay up half the night, wrestling the angel

♦♢

The soldier wearied, covered his eyes, his earliest friend fallen

He counted his loyalty and weighed it golden in the balances

If justice had any remorse they would still journey on together

Have eaten at the table of life, imbibed Lancelot’s promise and fury

♥♡

The bears duty, two cubs washed in milk saw the avalanche approaching

The smaller watched the mountain leaning, neither borrowed expectations

Grisly and grey he now writes natures tales so earnest and sorry 

The larger, buried in the August snow n’er tasted nectar with a honey paw 

♣♧

‘Similitude’ – the dancers pale dress so faint and brief holds a soft breast

They rise and fall, the troubadour a gallant Danseur, he dressed only in awe and esteem

Who lifts her like lilies on a flowered bough where only death they may greet so cold

The comparison of beauty is a silver mirror where pass the Hringhorni triumphal

Ψ

writtenbyedenbray13.09.2012

…

…

#Authors Note – This one is a puzzle and no mistake – I have always been interested in Norsk mythology and of course ‘The HRINGHORNI’ – ‘the greatest of all ships’ was the name given to the funeral ship of Baldr – the god of light, joy, purity, and the summer sun in Norse mythology, and a son of the god Odin and the goddess Frigg. He is the father of Forseti, and he has numerous brothers, such as Thor and Váli. 

This ship carries a tale or two within its ancient beams – as does this fairly challenging piece I wrote in 2012 – a veritable fusion of spiritual symbolism, heroic mythology alongside purest human sentiment and the rawest emotion. I have included it in this my latest Anthology for those very same varied reasons and because I love that it explores myth, fact, history, reality and death.

As my literary counsel and most penetrating critic – Jessica Renea – once wrote of it at the time that it was originally published – ‘Interesting draw between the ship of the god and the seaside funeral for bin laden. As well your words are almost a celebration of the orgasmic release death gives us all.’

Death is certainly most uppermost in our minds right now as the death-toll includes so many respected and elderly members of both local and Global-communities and societies reaching unprecedented and unholy numbers, due to the unrelenting horror of the Covid-19 pandemic.

May our honoured dead be carried to Valhalla upon this Ancient Vessel and take their rest in peace.

edenbraytoday01.04.2020

..

‘With deepest respect and sympathy for those who now must mourn’

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 6 – hydrate

Posted on March 31, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

…

#6

      hydrate . . .

◯﹅2

inhalate

infiltrate

expatriate

violate

annihilate

pontificate

remonstrate

sublimate

venerate

regenerate

exonerate

exfoliate

hydrate

2◯﹆th⊂ENTURYboy

… … …

writtenbyedenbray05.08.2012

..

#Authors Note :-  Something a little different today – this piece is definitely from my Prog-prose portfolio – A poem of one-word lines that I wrote 8 years ago but which somehow seems to fit in to today’s scenario as much as it did then and if anything is even more relevant due to the enormous problems we face currently.

I try not to slip into endless or repetitious jargon about or around COVID-19 but you can’t run away from it. The truth is, the world has to wake up! – Today it is sick and humankind has to learn to be healthier and to challenge those who aren’t and who invite potentially unhealthy, lethal or evil  (depending on your viewpoint) germs or viruses into ‘our’ Global village! 

This piece for me challenges humankind perfectly and without judgement in all of those areas of concern and the issues that the current epidemic has thrown up in all our faces.

Be strong! – edenbraytoday 

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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 5 – a black satin cloth

Posted on March 30, 2020 by edenbray

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

A BLACK SATIN CLOTH

…

Blake Patterson removed his glasses and placed them on the nightstand with a glass of water and his loose change and that note from Julie. He removed his clothing, one piece at a time, folding his trousers, hanging his shirt, binning his underclothes. A car passed in the street outside. There was that irreverent ‘fizz’ as the wheels cut the plane of the wet road, reminding Blake how damp was the night. He slipped between the cool, cotton sheets, stretching his limbs and feeling his body relax. His limbs ached from the long walk, his mind was still numb from the events of that evening. He had to think of better things…. He had to get up from the bed to place a black satin cloth over a gap in the drapes where light from the street was leaking straight into his eyes. He liked being naked for that brief moment standing in the half-streetlight, he needed to cool down. He adjusted the cloth to silence the light and then slipped back into those cool, soft, sheets. The day had been harsh and dramatic but now he was in his own time and space and to Blake that felt good. He lay still for a moment not wanting to think and then he slept, quietly, like a drunk on skid row….

writtenbyedenbray03.06.2012

..

#Authors Note ~ In this latest Anthology of my work, re-posted as a 2nd Retrospective for a new generation, I am hoping to include the broadest spectrum of styles, writing formats and genres from my back~catalogue.

From time to time I enjoy writing what you might regard as opening chapters, opening paragraphs or even 1st-page book intros – These are random and fictional excerpts from Poems, Essays and Books that have never actually been written. All are what you might term ‘hooks’. I also love catchy Newspaper Headlines and Chapter Titles.

A Black Satin Cloth would slip fairly neatly into the ‘Chapter Title’ genre. These pieces turn up from time to time in my portfolio and I treat them in various ways. Although kind of cliché, this is actually often perfectly intended. This particular piece is almost spoof-like as you could see it as a Scene-opener from a Leslie Neilson Comic-film screenplay or a scene from a Chevy Chase ‘Fletch-Movie’ comic caper. It is actually intended to introduce a much darker tale that maybe one day I will finish. 

This piece also attempts to pay its due respect to Classic Film Noir Movies and Gumshoe Classic Screenplays made famous by actors like Humphrey Bogart and writers like Raymond Chandler.

The writer hasn’t much storyline to work with in this piece which itself is intended as a further and final motivation. These ‘thumbnail’ sketches are offered almost by way of answers to written English Language tests, exam questions or just literary challenges to prove still the power of the written word to thrill and excite. Hope you get the thrill of it – If you do please leave me a like or a comment below. – thank you! – edenbraytoday   

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