EDENBRAY in EXILE – 27 – latrice

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

‘Latrice, He Said ~ I Wanna’ Be Bob Dylan’

…   …    …

Bob_Dylan_Collage_by_DizzyEmotions

–

〒

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

〒

Pearls and advantaged peoples

Share the amalgam of constraint

Twisted, warm and fatalled by

The erroneous pressure of form

〒

Belittled, bedraggled, frustrated

Where are the moments of extremity

That elude our wildest aspirations

Or formulate the dawn of our preposition?

 〒

Bella, Tarim, Fuchsia and Madre

So simply contented are opposed

By the context of their unborn attenuations

Or the altruism of their conformity

〒

So ultimately translated and bereft

From the endeavour of our collusion

Perfectly entwined, assimilated and adored

Translated for a later generation

〒

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 

–

writtenbyedenbray16.05.2013

…   …   …

1may-09-bob_dylan-calendar

…   …   …

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

Posted in EDENBRAY in EXILE - A RETROSPECTIVE, edenbray POMES, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

EDENBRAY in EXILE – 26 – spytone 1003

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

SPYTONE 1003

Team_Fortress_2_Spy_by_GraffitiWatcher

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

¤  ¤  ¤  ¤  ¤  ¤

:::writtenbyedenbray29.09.2014

..

#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

Posted in edenbray COMMENT, EDENBRAY in EXILE - A RETROSPECTIVE, edenbray POMES, JAZZ POETRY, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

EDENBRAY in EXILE – 25 – albion: the rich man’s son

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

ALBION : THE RICH MAN’S SON

Unicorn-Coloring-Pages

…

Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ

‘Fiddlesticks and fannies’ young Marmaduke

The king won’t speak well a’ yourn – nor will he offer coin

He rewardeth only those who subjugate themselves

Show proper deference to the throne and this royal land

Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ

This island is shrouded in a mist of uncertainty

And horses stall at sight of the unicorn o’ bathed in blood

Or careering as the ashen rider into a haelen’ storm

Whence the Wallace and the Roy did gi’ na’ quarter

Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ

Long-ships once came upon a hapless maid with child

Who once called and her doting father answered

Now his honour challenged, displaced wi’ squander

There still remain one chance for he to render

Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ

To ride the prince’s mount, the white horse regal

And clear ‘the heir’ of storm, of rock, of mischance

And to his own favoured arm bring forth her beauty

Unity ~ tailored, washed, pressed, laundered, referred

Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ

Then stepped forth a shepherd’s son with locks

Full and gentle he and sporting yellered flowers

A dalliance with a restless cousin whose black mane

Curved and plaited with meadow grass the colour of her eyes

Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ

These pair, the only refuge now for Albion’s son

Who heard from birth of succulent lands his rich father

Held control and sway and where he dipped his soldiers

The yarn stretched and torn around his masters tartan shawl

ɣ

writtenbyedenbray06.09.2014 

ɣ ɣ ɣ ɣ ɣ

… … …

#Authors Note : Edenbray on satire, on poetry – a double-bluff – You can tell this from this ~ that edenbray has always admired early Dylan – thats Bob not Thomas even though he were a Welshman – Riddles are as Riddle may ma’ dear – to quote – he who hath none to share but one – see, its easy when you know – but more interesting when you don’t.

No one can understand true satire like an Englishman – not a Scot, NOT a Welsh or Irish or any of the gaelic order – so it must be the truest, English part of me from whence thith came and I a friend and true and loyal Scot, a grandson of Irish true logic and the reddest hair who wears a true love of our Union sewn like a tattoo upon his fleshly, garment sleeve, blue and turquoise as a woad-man, red as spilt dragons blood, green as a Patrick prayer holy, sturdy as a Harlic beard so blonde and curly. – So, be it seen this day in Albion – fair sister, my own and truest brother that we together ARE indeed a Rich-man’s son & God bless you – all – dear British people at this so terrible time and amidst this so terrible pandemic brutal.                                                                                                                                        edenbraytoday

Posted in EDENBRAY in EXILE - A RETROSPECTIVE, edenbray OPINION, edenbray POMES, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

EDENBRAY in EXILE – 24 – i sat with eddie …

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

I SAT WITH EDDIE …

DEBARTOLO

a golden man

Sitting with Eddie deBartolo ~ A Poem

⾦

I stood in the bleachers with Eddie last night

I sat on the sofa with my family and friends

We feasted and dined,  on V.S.O.P. we wined

For the 2nd time on this golden night I cried

⾦

I cried cos I’m crazy, my emotions were pinched

Could not hardly believe, my fingers were singed

The smoke and the ale and the smell of success

Drifted through my eyes, my brain, my conscience torn

⾦

These nights when fans are born and grey men smile

We work-worn members, working classes whose trial

Littered with small moments like babies, barroom fights

Wedding nights, stolen sights, stars that still shine bright 

⾦

The separation of wills, the challenge is the sport

The fox, the hole, the slippery turf, the goal

And out there are no prisoners only soldiers true

Whose blood mixed warm may fall on winters snow

⾦

Or crease the night and scar the head or sap the strength,

Of warriors true, of bastions of courage and legions who

Empty houses and quietly lift the hopes of dreaming men

Who now caught like struggling insects may break free 

⾦

This golden web, now an adornment for a maidens head

Whose ointment runs through all we say, all we do

In this modern age, what makes us faithful, loyal and true?

What blinds us from greed, unites us from pressure to work

⾦

I sat with Eddie in the bleachers last night, I carried the flag

I wrestled Leviathan, caught the claws of the falcon

Spat out the blood and feathers that spattered and littered the ground

And watched faithfully as the umber green field-turf

Turned through red to brown to gold

⾦

sportspoem writtenbyedenbray21.01.2013

… … …

http://49erfaithfulukdotcom.wordpress.com/

–

⾦ ⾦ ⾦ ⾦ ⾦ ⾦ 

⾦ chinese symbol for gold

…

#Authors Note ~ The 2nd sports Poem features NFL American Football, a passion of mine since the mid 80’s when Eddie DeBartolo was the bold, charismatic, entrepreneurial owner of the San Francisco 49ers franchise who, charged with having breached certain rules, by implication, had to relinquish his position, resign and hand over the running of the organisation to his sister and brother-in-law. His absence contributed to the start of a period of decline but after a poor period in their history the franchise rallied again and enjoyed a couple of successful campaigns. During this period of team renaissance and on an important playoff night the by now disciplined and pardoned Eddie DeBartolo returned as a guest to make his peace and enjoy a night of celebration as the team enjoyed a memorable night of victory and celebration. This poem was inspired by that night!        edenbraytoday 

Posted in EDENBRAY in EXILE - A RETROSPECTIVE, edenbray POMES | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

EDENBRAY in EXILE – 23 – the night i discovered football ~ a poem

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

◉

The Night I Discovered Football

(0r the Battle of Stamford Bridge)
ninian-flood-lights-60-438344870-1959019
…
◉

Lawman, Bobbie and the ‘Best’

And the soft rain that fell that deep, blue night

I fell out of the sky and the green-striped tiger

Took my heart and pain for the 1st time

On wooden seats where real men gather to dream

◉

I saw Bestie ‘hide’ the ball, he always played 

Like a greedy boy up the park ,while Charlton coursed

The battle-fields of Flanders, Verdun, the Somme

And young Dennis, so cheeky and sharp radiated charm

Like a sidewinder with a venom sting who wore a ‘Colgate’ ring

◉

That night I heard the sound of the leather ball

Heavy with wet rain, like oily sweat and bald shouts

The cloaked-crowd hushed, an army of rabid bees

That caught the odour of burnt wood

As deep as a scarred woman’s perfumed caress

◉

Suddenly I was a man and my heroes sportsmen

Who made a kind of sex on Saturdays at 3pm sharp

Or on nights like these when floodlight-stars sparkle silver-white

Mingle with the stench of burnt onion and bar-room doors open

The shouts of programme sellers, vendors, such honest traders

◉

When we lose our order and our souls

For just the love of a game that can never end 

Even when we remain true and bind our hands to the pole 

Or promise a never-ending virtue women covet

◉

writtenbyedenbray14.05.13

..

#Authors Note – There now follows 2 Sports posts within the context of EDENBRAY-in-EXILE – The  2nd Edenbray Retrospective Anthology – I am unashamedly – a Sports fan – not quite as extreme as one of my absolute heroes – Ernest Hemingway – who was a great lover of ‘sport’ and in particular a positive advocate for the ultimate ‘contest’ between man and beast ~ The Bull Fight – These days not considered a popular point of view.

Where did that come from?                                                                               edenbraytoday

Posted in EDENBRAY in EXILE - A RETROSPECTIVE, edenbray POMES | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

EDENBRAYin EXILE – 22 – turquoise 3

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

Turquoise 3

NEW YORK RAILWAY.

▲▲▲▲

.

How good this carnal fire?

Where the liberty flag flies

The morning sun rushing hope

.

▼▼▼▼

The turn of our innermost feelings

Please assemble on the tarmac

Let the firefighters wrestle the hydrant

.

▲▲▲▲

Form an orderly queue and listen

The peaceful narrative soliloquy

The band-aid, the mountain jagged

▼▼▼▼

And sleep – a courtroom jester

Mocking both our reason and our tact

Within the folds of distress

.

▲▲▲▲

.

A window open leaning where

There is a soft bird yearning

A faint hope burning

.

▲▼▼▲

..

writtenbyedenbray21.05.2013

..

#Authors Note ~ After enduring Day 26 of my Isolation during CV-19 pandemic EDENBRAY in EXILE launches a 22nd Retrospective piece.

Tonight I watched the Sidney Lumet classic movie – #NETWORK for the very 1st time – 40 years after it was released and somehow it is hard to believe that film was anywhere near as relevant or amusing when it was 1st released all those years ago despite winning 4 – Academy Awards. It would make great #essentialviewing for this LOCKDOWN audience – so relevant – so funny! … so to the point! … …  and then theres EDENBRAY’s – Turquoise 3 similarly appears to fit like a latex glove and ‘live’ in the present paranoid, virally challenged but conversely loving era that we are currently living through!

Maybe what I had had feared most, all along, is coming true – that I really wrote all my verse for such a tragic & sad time as this – when we are all feeling unlike ourselves and choosing or should I say turning into characters out of the Walking Dead in a kind of huge role play.                                                                                    edenbraytoday

..

#Footnote: LOCKDOWN ROLEPLAY

DURING LOCKDOWN – WHICH WALKING DEAD CHARACTER ARE YOU TURNING TO ????

I’m turning in ..to Hershel Greene

… calm, solid, wise, dependable, experienced, spiritually mature and with *2 beautiful daughters … (also deluded!)

PARENTAL DISCLAIMER: *NOTE – not deluded on this final point by the way!  

..

  • miss you  –  #staysafe everybody – turquoise 3

Posted in EDENBRAY in EXILE - A RETROSPECTIVE, edenbray POMES, JAZZ POETRY, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

EDENBRAY in EXILE – 21 – trains in the night

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

.

trains in the night …

… … …

train-at-night-608x4461

u  u  u 

If honesty wore a gown or sat in shop doorways

Bound by the collection of photographs in my card box

If it danced insanely wearing a cap labelled ‘hurt’

Maybe truth would restart and matters clear

Like light that is golden frames the gaps between clouds

Or settles on that honest place between her breasts

Where love, art and memory fuse and confirm there is beauty

u 

Honesty less honourable would take a different journey

Use device or scheme to loose the lounging tiger

Those green eyes lowered forgetful might wander like ants

But paradise is full of heroes who suffered worthy

The consolation of the consoled only slight and weary

For justice there is no remedy, no cause, no reward or certainty

But for trains that travel through the night there is only sycophancy

u  u  u 

writtenbyedenbray14.10.2013

..

#Authors Note – This is another potential tale of broken hearts – or maybe of the one broken heart, its unclear. A tale of hurt, of pain, of tragedy! The pain like blood that oozes on the tracks where two trains passed one night or possibly several nights or days and both turned out to be less than honest with themselves or with each other. Sycophancy it seems may have got the better of both in the end before one faced the truth while the other had not the guts to hurl themselves from the train of circumstance but chose to nurse their hurt, a caged wildcat that would eventually scar them both terribly.

No Brief Encounter, then for these two of lost love’s children – just sadness, regret and enduring pain which is always the trouble with those who trust their love to brief moments found while passing on a train.                                                                             edenbraytoday

Posted in EDENBRAY in EXILE - A RETROSPECTIVE, edenbray POMES, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

EDENBRAY in EXILE – 20 – its a bailey

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

its a bailey … using no traditional punctuation …

its a bailey

it is hard to describe the warmth and security two pals can derive from a walk into town to buy a shiny  spiral exercise book and a new papermate biro with which to record such important details as 1st round european cup results between aarhus and gornik zarbze or top of the table league action between sheffield wednesday and newcastle united but of such things were happy memories formed from sunday afternoon kneeling sorties on my friend steves lounge room carpet playing subbuteo ◉ such events formed clean and safe recreation for two lads who wrestled with the early pressures of teenage adolescence and provided a neutral territory for both to resort to as external situation and internal emotions underwent serious transformation ◉ here was a love affair where both knew the rules and even the names taken and sending offs of our relationship which could be recorded in blue and white and received due recompense by dipping into a cardboard punishment box for a paper slip suggesting a two match ban or perhaps worse ◉ the years turned slowly and even as the dreams of day switched from the lifting of our plastic subbuteo trophies to the night dreams of erotic youth the draw of our friendship was imbedded in an intellectual and comic purity where serious issues ideas or views were confined to discussing the re-election of old and new teams to our football fantasy league ◉ more often than not these details were discussed under the vivid brightness of the stamford bridge floodlights during the half-time interval ◉ our afternoons and evenings out watching chelsea qpr palace portsmouth and even millwall became fond and happy hours of interspersed comic lunacy which often wetted the corners of our eyes and at times the underpants while we exchanged only brief diary like recollections of what we were actually doing  who we were seeing  where we were going or such like ◉ both of us arrived in our twenties  it seems to me  searching for the nirvana of a responsibility free environment where matters could be resolved by as little thought as possible ◉ it was the innate sense of escapism which ran as a core  through our very happy friendship which no doubt reacted against us as we both  led by differing conclusions  wrestled with the thornier issues of life ◉ tolerance was for the time being set aside for a brief period and our innermost selves emerged briefly  frightened and not a little ashamed ◉ we did  after all  know each other much better than we had admitted or revealed ◉ the realisation caused our one and only argument and the idyllic dream was forever shattered ◉ there really were  after all  such things as pain  hurt  envy and strife of life and we were tainted also ◉ the magic of our true friendship sparked once more  after dust had settled on the green base of our gentlemans game and after repairing the plastic goal posts and redecorating the figures for one day once more the blue biro wrote the good news that all was well ◉ the two mates had entered extra time and much like the rare raptor from which the game subbuteo takes its name  they had begun to fly

◁

◉◉◉

subbuteo

◉◉

◉

writtenbyedenbray28.11.88

its a bailey … using no traditional punctuation

..

#Authors Note : Another childhood memoir presented using no traditional punctuation under the catchy heading – ‘Its a bailey’ – people seem to be liking these – i hope you do!

                                                                                                                                edenbraytoday

Posted in baileys, edenbray ESSAYS, EDENBRAY in EXILE - A RETROSPECTIVE | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

EDENBRAY in EXILE – 19 – gangster, assassin, spy

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

.

…

gangster aSSaSSiN SPY

Real-life-assassins-who-were-nearly-as-dangerous-as-John-Wick

… 333 …

Once stated that I was a gangster

I didn’t protest I didn’t struggle

As I might have once bared or even cared

How could I with my mean streak?

A cruel streak, a grey streak,

A dark streak, bloodied and gristle

Like something you might pass

To the edge of your plate unwanted

But I loved my mothers cuddle

Imagined, felt or struggled

We always left strained and muzzled

And here we are as a group of filings

Drawn to a north pole magnetic

A candle burning, shining hope

And warmth for our hearts ease

So easy to please, filled honestly

Yes, with emotional disease

And everything is a named disease

A disease labelled and sorted

A love true, tied and thwarted

Like limbs bound, aborted

Silent feeling rushing into a green sea

And in the sea bathing the sparkled moon

Shook its fist and waved its anonymity

Like paving stones in the desert

Like sun flares cavorting golden

Like maids abandoning discretion

Bronze warriors laying down arms

For a brief fleeting and then sober

Hard, heavy and cruel, no one is better

For a life lived with no art and no heart

..

writtenbyedenbray26.09.2013

.

#Authors Note : To be honest I questioned myself long and hard on this piece as to whether it had merit and enough quality to warrant selection for the current Retrospective. I mention this, fully aware that knowledge of such consideration might prejudice the opinion of the piece by the reader but also aware that whatever my opinion may be or however that opinion is shaped, I am fully committed to the notion that I am entirely dependant on my readers to determine what they appreciate or otherwise.

The piece itself slips into the Prog-prose classification but not ‘jazz’ as despite remaining avant-garde with no obvious rhyming tenor the wording is traditional and phrased. It is a curious piece – hope you enjoy! 

                                                                                                                                    edenbraytoday

Posted in EDENBRAY in EXILE - A RETROSPECTIVE, edenbray POMES, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , | Leave a comment

EDENBRAY in EXILE – 18 – its a bailey

‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

… … …

its a bailey … using no traditional punctuation

…

ajp1881-rhus

Adworld …

… o yes and it is an adworld ◉ as though you could add to this world at all ◉ add feeling  add sense  add quality ◉ job walked with god and god did some talking ◉ talked  talked  talked ◉ of things he had seen that even attenborough does not know ◉ attenborough after all is just a hack ◉ a pinny for a waiter with words subtle and deceiving ◉ he is like an ad to avert the eyes ◉ to advertise ◉ so give a child a magnifying glass  a jar  and an envelope and a show of some natural environment and they might even discover the world ◉ and they will talk  talk  talk from experience ◉ give them a kind and patient teacher who is firm and convinced and they will learn something of trust and innocence and feeling ◉ when i was a child the teachers hit us often but some also taught us and not just how to avoid the drill strap  the steel rule or that oh so floppy slipper tied to a bamboo cane with string mister morgan sir ◉ or the flying chalk duster or 20 minutes writing lines or an essay of 2000 words on golf balls or mister hodges less than accurate strike on your lower spine with a cold and greyed and sinister plimsole ◉ he meant to strike your fleshy arse or so you had always imagined with his go for your guns hands and his shapeless ink splattered suit ◉ and mister weston with his gentler ways who was entitled kaa at cubs and took us to the park to study leaves and draw them so we might know to which tree they belonged …

…  its a bailey  …  october 16 2013 writtenbyedenbray

◉

imgres-1

◉◉

imgres

◉◉◉

a-couple-of-1st-solihull-wolf-cubs-photo-taken-by-the-hq-sometime-in-the-early

its a bailey … using no traditional punctuation

…

#Authors Note: Having established the order of these Bailey’s and their purpose here is another written in 2013, as the 18th entry in my ‘Edenbray in Exile’ Retrospective. This offering is a mixed-memoir piece using no traditional punctuation recalling both positive and negative images from my memories as a schoolchild. Firstly, recalling moments from the happiest of times I experienced as a member of the cubs – Baden Powell’s inspired society for under-11’s and an introduction to the Scout movement. Secondly, concerning less happy years spent at senior school where corporal punishment was still very much the order of the day often administered in a grossly sadistic and unpleasant way.

Once again, 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

Posted in baileys, edenbray COMMENT, EDENBRAY in EXILE - A RETROSPECTIVE, edenbray MEMOIRS, edenbray THUMBNAILS | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment