‘Edenbray in Exile’
A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays
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‘Latrice, He Said ~ I Wanna’ Be Bob Dylan’
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The night has tumbling skies
As auburn red as Lilly’s gorgeous hair
So barren the awful sentiment that hits
And harms two fateful twins bonded
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Pearls and advantaged peoples
Share the amalgam of constraint
Twisted, warm and fatalled by
The erroneous pressure of form
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Belittled, bedraggled, frustrated
Where are the moments of extremity
That elude our wildest aspirations
Or formulate the dawn of our preposition?
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Bella, Tarim, Fuchsia and Madre
So simply contented are opposed
By the context of their unborn attenuations
Or the altruism of their conformity
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So ultimately translated and bereft
From the endeavour of our collusion
Perfectly entwined, assimilated and adored
Translated for a later generation
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Nothing so noble as to separate this moment
Or call vacant the felony of new certainty
Where only migrant peoples occur
Or the trials of aptitude fade incandescent
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writtenbyedenbray16.05.2013
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Authors Note: I promised to provide as comprehensive and varied an Anthology in this 2nd Retrospective of Edenbray’s work.
In this piece we are invited to participate in an ode of celebration for two literary stiles as diverse as time and circumstance MIGHT divide them. Two literary masters and troubadours of totally separate ages and experience who told tales for audiences for one and the same reason. My sincere belief is that Shakespeare and Dylan would share a mutual respect and admiration for each others work and then Counting Crows put the idea in my head from another lyrical piece of their own that was a song and then Edenbray penned it out, fleshed it out. You dig ?! … ~ edenbraytoday






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EDENBRAY in EXILE – 26 – spytone 1003
‘Edenbray in Exile’
A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays
… … …
SPYTONE 1003
I live in the somewhere else
In the in-between
I walk like a ghost
Dream like a host
To an alien form
My allegiance torn
My purpose born
But not discovered
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
I am an ant on a trail
Am a burrowed snail
Of tortured moments shared
But not forgotten
For the perceptive
And the shallow
I am inward, bent
Mysterious yet callow
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
The interrogator’s smile
So back in style
Now placed on file
Like many friends and trinkets
Who mention love
With a surgeon’s glove
Then stand aside
To murder then to profit
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:::writtenbyedenbray29.09.2014
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#Authors Note: An Ode to Espionage – ‘the forgotten word’. I wrote this piece in 2014 at a time when SPYDOM appeared to have gone quiet and the so-called Post-war spies of the COLD-WAR era seemed a long way away, if not completely forgotten! This poem belongs to a group of what might be termed Jazz-poems which in turn form part of a wider collection of Prog-prose – my classification. They are not intended to be romantic, symbolic, not politic right-wing, left-wing subversive, humanist or liberal-organic. They are poems that are visual, personal reflections sometimes based on my own fears and concerns that may contain latent, personal opinion. Other than that they are just groups of words. edenbraytoday
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