EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 34

RED FLOWER

Originally written around 2009 and posted ~ shortly after – Re-posted ~ 31.12.2019 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective

… …

Red ♼ flower

☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸

 I  cannot say how she came to me,

the surprise that took my breath.

The laugh, the smile, the younger style

of her fragrant heart.

Like a real daughter and not a son,

her name spells fun and makes me young

and we were friends it seemed as old as time,

no guilt, questions or lust,  just angel dust.

And she the angel who walks so cute

and me the old brute in wisdom’s suit.

We talked and made our chat

 as we rode the waves of this and that,

Of work, experience, the past.

of plans and hopes and dreams that last.

When suddenly a secret bird caused me to fear

death drew near and I heard its sound

it almost took me to the ground.

And listening to the sound of doves,

I knew this bird was born of love.

A love I knew could never be,

in spite of me, in spite of you.

A pain now gripped me deep inside

until my prayers caused me to see,

That love may live as pure as any dove

or birds that circle round our heads,

may still fly free above this place,

where now might only flowers grow,

while reaching high or stooping low.

☸ 

Flower red, I hold you free

as flowers  always, ought to be

☸  ☸  

                                                                           writtenbyedenbrayun-datedap2009/10

Re-posted31.12.2019

..

#Authors note ~ I think I read somewhere that every man will fall in love at least twice in a lifetime – No one may truly choose who they fall for in matters of love or know the reasons, the whys and the wherefores or answer the why-nots and that is most certainly true!

All one can say is that love happens and I suppose how you deal with it, will either make for more or less happiness or sadness in some measure or circumstance to those involved – Love unrequited will bear its own regret and ask its own questions but at least we may draw round our hearts a few well-chosen words – these scribbles are mine and they will always belong to me!🌺

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 33

BALADIN’S DREAM ~ PART IV

“THE THEATRE OF THE ABUSED”

Originally written ~ October 2, 1991 – Edited and posted ~ February 19, 2012 – Abridged and re-posted ~ December 31, 2019 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective 

… …

✝ ✝ ✝

BALADIN’S DREAM ~ PART IV


… … …

THE

THEATRE OF THE ABUSED

✝ ✝ ✝

… 

Raw emotion, an open wound – sore to touch and feeling

That time has drawn a veil or laid a skin and caused the sounds

To mutter inaudible and blurred by bright light and anger

✝ ✝ ✝

An anguish that looks, enquires – those questions raised against the darkest backdrop

A curtain of certainty within the Theatre of the Abused

Where patient hands tend the broken and bloodied and patient        people listen

To sordid tales true and set, moist with tears or wet and daubed with blood

✝ ✝ ✝

The searching lights that probe, outline many failing thoughts

Where children’s laughter once would be but now is lost to the grey

Or faint in hope or sense, they wait for the water cold to stir and a new light to invade their memories

✝ ✝ ✝

If sad we must be, then sad and mourn we with the cold night wind

That frail flesh that gave its heat in dark despair

No truth can sooth the marvellous mind of reason so teased by fate and the chance of evil’s choice

Or left drawn and limp on the wheel of human pain

✝ ✝ ✝

Only personalities special touch can sense or divine such healing medicine

To calm the tortured night, the warm, tropic breeze of feeling light

A gaze, embrace, a kissed poultice pressed and moistened by summer sun

The evening dew which lays heavy on the brow of many dazed and wounded

✝ ✝ ✝

Only personality, which loved and needed takes the broken bones so brittle

In small moments, warms the embers to fire and spit back energy into emotions corpse

To confront the taped, stored scars which lay in steel cold drums in damp, forgotten basement buildings

Labelled by a system even faded, lost, as never meant to use or aid the bearer

✝ ✝ ✝

Personality speaks a language so rare, we have heard it only in a distant dream

Where soft words engage our earliest memories to instruct us and enlighten

This world a bigger place, where part of universal chemistry we once stepped

Unfettered by any sadness the decreasing skyline offers

The earth’s choice, singular, selfish, insular yet not divisive

✝ ✝ ✝

We, born of personality – a person!

We, born of sense, reason and love – a living person and Baladin only weary, turns slowly in his sleep

❋ ❋ ❋

 

writtenbyedenbray-02.10.1991

edited-19.02.2012-abridged-31.12.2019

✝ ✝ ✝

..

#Authors note ~ I determine to write what I feel and what really matters! I could write of flower-strewn valleys. Of powder-puff clouds scudding across cerulean skies above green fields where fattened cows wander contentedly beneath snow-capped mountains, lakes and gorges. Of places only the rich and the famous may vacate to squander their loose change but then there is Baladin my ageless companion, my friend and advisor, my alter-ego. He is a Leonardo cartoon, an unfinished Hemingway, a lesser-known album by Radiohead, a Picasso drawing one Carlos Garcia found in a box in a Madrid attic. Baladin has seen it all and more. More than most anyway and yet he still emerges in the sunlight, blizzard or in the rain and steps up for yet more of this tortured, human experience.

#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 32

… …

WISDOM FROM THE MASTER

Originally written ~ January 21, 1991 – Posted ~ January 18, 2012 – Re-posted ~ December 30, 2019 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective

… …

..

In Art – In Life

All the time you are experimenting

You never really know!

..                                                         

writtenbyedenbray21.01.91

 

 

When I paint I am practising

For the day when I paint a 

Really Good Picture

..

                                                                  writtenbyedenbray21.01.91

..

Wisdom is personified of her children – King Solomon

The eye of the master will do more work than both his hands – Benjamin Franklin
..
.
.
#Authors note :
If any man thinks he knows anything – he knows nothing yet as he ought toPaul of Assisi (Saint Paul) ( – I guess that goes for the women too, although they may argue)
.
In my book, we should all carry within us that most delicious sense of irony – edenbray today
..
..

… …

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 31

GARNI SALLOW

(A song)

Originally written ~ 10.10.1981  – Originally Posted 09.01.2012 – Re-posted as part of an Edenbray Retrospective ~ 30.12.2019

                                                                                                                                    … 

… …

༊ ༊ ༊

Garni Sallow

(A song)

… …

I went to the top and swallowed

Swallowed pride!

 

Bed of roses ~ no!

Bed of roses ~ no-o!

But Garni Sallow

He does take my hand

 

Motivation soliloquy

Regeneration ~ Happening to me

Backward taking ~ Since ‘my’ fall

 

It’s so Big ‘my’ fall

Identification ~ with all ‘my’ means

Qualification ~ ‘my’s’ in the genes

 

Cannot escape ~ No way at all

till Garni Sallow

He came along

 

Holding water ~ full to the brim

Garni Sallow

He knows how to swim

and filling me slowly

is no fun at all

 

My Garni Sallow

He overflow-w-w-w – w

Killing me softly

For Him is no tale

                 

                   

Dear Garni Sallow

He kills me stone dead

with His love

with His l-o-o-v-e

with His l-o-o-v-e!

 

… … …

writtenbyedenbray10.10.81

re-posted30.12.2019

༄  ༅  ༇  ༉ ༊ ༅ ༅

#Authors note:~ This was a song with no tune I wrote originally in 1981, nigh on 40 years ago. It follows a theme I have kind of perpetuated since I imagined it in and around 1969/70. It concerns the sincerity or naivete of faith and also the name or names of god. The premise of this theme and also this love-song presupposes that a loving god would be more than happy to be given a ‘pet’ or sincerely personal ‘love’ name as the name one might give to a true loved one, friend or relative – like possibly ‘gramps’ or something even more personal than that. God looks on the heart and should therefore be able to discern the true sincerity of faith within the human heart and therefore remain unperturbed by such seeming familiarity. This song is a love-song born within a love-relationship and sung by a loved, accepted and confident believer to the object of their faith and love ~ Garni Sallow 

( Link ~ https://edenbray.wordpress.com/ronism-%e2%99%97-it-all-started-at-a-party-with-friends/ )

Personal Jesus

Depeche Mode

Reach out and touch faith
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who cares
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who’s there
Feeling unknown
And you’re all alone
Flesh and bone
By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I’ll make you a believerPut me to the test
Things on your chest
You need to confess

#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 30

RED PEACE ~ PINK HEAVEN

Originally written July 15th 1990 and posted ~ February 24th 2012 – Re-posted ~ December 29th 2019 as part of an Edenbray retrospective

Red Peace ~ Pink Heaven

pink volcano

… …

ɣ   …   ɣ   …   ɣ

… …

Fuzzed red circles of light

A metaphor of blind rage

A melting pot seething

A cauldron, volatile and ugly

A latent volcano of emotion

emptying from within

… ɣ …

The fuse is lit, burning brightly

The bomb is set

Feelings pressed hard tightly

You never knew these thoughts

You never needed the purge

The abstinence of envy

May hide the seeds of rage

Jealousy!

… ɣ …

Your perfect form and delivery

Your calm, untroubled exterior

You’ve never raged within

~ Christian!

..

I once spoke these words

A symbol then of form and hypocrisy

… ɣ …

We all hate ‘the christian’

We all slate his integrity

His shapeless, righteous deeds

Vacuum light and need

We all slate ‘the christian’

We all laugh the creed

The holy grail, the pilgrim trail

We hyenas, we natural dreamers

We laughing, cackling, hateful schemers

.. and who are the we?

.. and who the christian?

.. who do we own?

.. and who then is the teacher?

… ɣ …

Crazed, marble, statues

Relics from the past

Hewn from the earths ore

We the clay models

Fashioned, formed and modelled

The grey dawn beckons once

The rose-hip skies

The cream-puff clouds

The silhouette trees – dark and blue-green

Against the sparkling morning

… ɣ …

No more ‘the christian’ will need to hide

In beds of white and linen

No more the proof he proffers

Of noble deeds to silence scoffers

He is creation, his ideas New

His beginning amidst the popular view

He has struggled as the limpid pupae

of some terrestrial force

and now born of an umber earth

Of rich, dark colours and subtle hue

not protected, nor frozen

in timeless space

But breathing fresh, the air of life

He may lay indeed exhausted

On his bed of ease and rest contented

… ɣ …

Peace ~ pink heaven!

… …

writtenbyedenbray15.07.1990

abridged&re-posted29.12.2019

..

#Authors note – The Lost Poems

It has already been well chronicled that edenbray wrote 5 diverse poems back in 1969 that were accepted for publication in an Anthology celebrating ‘Life in Britain in 1970’.

These poems were however lost before publication and edenbray has since made various attempts over the years to re-write at least three of them or at least attempted to capture the tone and feeling of the original, powerful works. This is one such creation written in an attempt to capture the ‘feeling’ of the original which was entitled – ‘The Christian’ –

Every poetic writer has written one or two pieces they can say were ‘finished’ and as they intended them to be – It is a sadness to me that these 5 Lost Poems contained ‘my one or two’ – as i remember feeling content about them.

This attempt is more of a sideways glance at the subject in question than the full head-on, post-regenerative analysis of it’s predecessor yet it still manages to drop certain lines from the bold, stripped-down original into the cauldron of contradictory opinion that emanates from a fairly controversial choice and somehow it is further enhanced by feelings and social opinion that are current in the world at large today, thirty years on – fifty years on!

I love when I write this way, the imagery, enthusiasm and momentum building into a natural almost organic ejaculation of feeling. A release, I think much like the symbolic, volcanic eruption suggested by the illustration that accompanies this piece.                                                                                                                                                             – edenbray today

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

..

#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 29

I AM NON-PERSON

Originally written and posted ~ 04.01.2012 – Re-posted ~ 27.12.2019 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective

… …

I AM NON-PERSON

I have reached my final frontier

I have finally arrived

I am a non-person

this empty soul

this empty heart

is not waiting for a brand new start

I am washed, cleaned, emptied, dumped

I am a non-person

No life, no love, no purpose

I have reached the end

Nirvana, the end of purpose

the end of hope

the end of freedom

as we may have known it

No challenge, no purpose,

no mountains to climb,

not worth a dime

I am a non-person

Can you see me here at the end of the line?

Can you see me falling off the edge of time?

..

..

writtenbyedenbray04.01.2012

..

#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 28

SEA, SAND and CEMENT

Written in June 1990 – Edited and posted ~ 24.01.2012 – Re-posted – 26.12.2019

as part of an Edenbray retrospective

cropped-p1010703.jpg

SEA, SAND and CEMENT

… …

I

… …

One part sea, vast and grey mirror, reflecting light and deep,

Home of strange form, mysterious life, origin of species? ~ I don’t think so!!

Hundred-fold the measure, the eyes, legs and tentacles, curious fish-form, gills, fins and tails,

Dancing grass, weed and starburst, wet air to these the matter of their world,

They pass through like space ships travelling, silver metal, glinting gold, in reflected sun,

Some with black gun-metal canopy-cold, armed with razor teeth and weaponry,

Fleets of capsules, battalions of grey-blue night, striped, spotted, shaped flat and broad,

Lithe torpedo-form and jelly, wild and varied, each moving in surges and jointless ease,

This bedspread galaxy, laid out and draped around the earth’s ball like a giant fingered hand, 

As though all vast, unnumbered circumference had been held and dipped in pure preservative and then stood aside and left to run,

Now the scientist begins to understand with measure, scale and technical data, the lens focusses bigger and brighter,

Comprehension dawning that this water-world still grasps to its bosom many uncharted secrets the wise and learned could not yet believe,

The sea as far off and uncertain as any astral star, unafraid,

It welcomes all unconditional and free though its claims are total, its commitment unswerving,

While some may play, dancing at its lip, others die, prey only to its unfamiliar form, it is no respecter of persons, untamed and headstrong,

With a caress as gentle as a young girl, an embrace as cold as death itself,

Still, as a young girl, naive and innocent so it has dwelt, though abused and plundered,

Still, its deep places hold wonder, charm and dread,

Still, its power feared and admired, thunders and its many hands carve relentlessly into the softened skin at lands fluted edge.

… …

II

20190905_131811

… …

Two parts sand, red-ochre, sun-gold, purple-grey, citrus, stone, umber white and mandarin,

From cliff top, waters edge, dune and quarry, laid on, loved on, lived on,

Sand ~ white gold, white fire, running through my hands, liquid gold and fire,

We have told the time by it, wiggled our toes in it, wet and dry we have taken it, glued it   and smoothed our wood with it,

Yellow sand, bright as the sun, its memory is laughter, sea and fun, donkey rides, bucket and spade and we danced on it!

The desert is yawning stretching its arms, engulfing communities, livelihoods, farms,

Flooding its banks, carving its trail, the sand-sod is marching with a lash in its tail and men have lost their lives in it,

The bedouins dark clothes, his tent, people, belongings, he lives on it,

Sandstorm, quicksand, treachery, pain, its deep places hide the earths hard, harsh moments, it is the earths purest dust,

The deal was struck, the agreement signed, the commodity assured, marketed, priced and mined,

Converted and mixed with ballast, bagged, packaged, heaped and stored, who could remember the ocean had roared?

Sand ~ golden earth and we turned it into glass, so now we look through it, see through it, drive through it, live through it,

How much glass have we made? How many glass fronted lives?

… …

… …\

III

… …

Three parts cement, angular, cold, devoid of soft form, it ran once like a trickling stream,

Lights flash; sirens edit; and the curious people converge again in vibrant clusters,

The rush of voice; engine; music; merged a created sound wave jangled; muted; moulded; set in rigid parenthesis.

We are in a city place; Lost people giving space; Miles of traffic caught in a turgid, futile race, this cement has become the only grace.

Concrete moments caught in a rectangular frame, offset grey and pale,

Glazed banners adorn its fortress ramparts and the children running fall and graze their knee.

Still the time of day has passed; Many feet make strange patterns, following the fashions leader and we read it all over the tabloids.

I remember a gentle rushing and seabirds attending this and that waves entry,

A soft memory and easy but this arid desert is a sweat box, uncomfortable, grey and grimed.

Take a paint box, select the colour and daub deeply, inflicting the pain that civilisation has written on the world of human sense.

The roasted coke, clay and limestone that once discovered fused an idea so clean and  brilliant.

…Or the sand, calcium carbonate and sodium carbonate, heated strongly which made a mirror speak.

…The calcium hydroxide, sand and water mixed to a paste and left to draw in dioxide carbon to set and bind our walls.

All of these elements flung wide to herald in the day when mankind would contemplate his creation and wonder where perhaps the sea has gone? 

… …

..

\.

writtenbyedenbrayduring the month of June – 1990

edited&posted24.1.2012

⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐

Raising The White-flag of Reason

This trilogy kind of ‘doesn’t need any explanation’ – except to maybe describe or ‘colour-in’ the background a little.

It is a ‘painting’ – a moving picture – an epic movie if you like that attempts to capture “the whole thing” – like in a game of charades? – In its most positive light … the earth, mankind, the Question of Creation – Job’s privilege and confession – man-kinds achievements both futile but nonetheless successful – including his desire to control nature, both necessary and contradictory but also controversial and flawed – The ‘whole-thing’ summarised under three headings – three elements fused and yet independent and dependent upon each other – excepting that is, that concrete in terms of global geography is man-kinds genuine offering to the table – presented alongside the offerings of nature – Sea … Sand … AND … Cement – a symbolic trio ‘equally’ dynamic in the story they tell?! ~ edenbray today

..

#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!

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THE DESOLATION OF LONELINESS

THE DESOLATION of LONELINESS

… … …

Purple_Sunset_Seascape

… …

.

This sharp pain in my hand

Its good it distracts me

Its good, tho’ I really can’t tell

Whether tis’ left or whether tis’ right

Whether tis hands or whether its’ feet

Or this pain round my head

As my legs have just gone dead

Where stand my friends?

I stood with these past few year

I thought at one time

We had something we shared

I actually thought they had genuinely cared

But now as I stare at the waste

I can’t see but one in this desolate place

The evening sun on the horizon shining

All around I hear voices shouting

The blood still running, filling my eyes

I can hardly see those purple skies

The heaviness in my heart hurts more

If there was a someone here I’d know

My life has not been so useless at all

I believe in the power of love

I believe what we do resounds in heaven above

I believe but I’m terribly alone

Left here inside this journey of death

My only comfort – this terrible drone

Here with this buzzing pain inside my head

Shocking loneliness waiting with me till I am dead 

..

writtenbyedenbray21.12.2019

..

..

I have decided to post this piece on Christmas Day 2019 in recognition of those who struggle daily with loneliness.

For many Christmas is the loneliest time of the year.

At Christmas time many celebrate the birth of the Christ – the Messiah – and yet Christ as the son of God – knew the greatest loneliness and rejection of all.

Jesus Christ was born to die – we all must die sometime but the true Christian faith recognises Christ as the sinless son of God whose death brought eternal salvation to all those who repent of their sin and call on His name.

A sincere and Happy Christmas to all my blog followers – edenbray

 

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2+2=5 ~ Guest Poem

Hail to the Thief

..

..

2+2=5

RADIOHEAD

Radiohead

Are you such a dreamer,
To put the world to rights?
I’ll stay home forever,
Where two and two always makes a five

I’ll lay down the tracks,
Sandbag and hide,
January has April showers,
And two and two always makes a five

It’s the Devil’s way now,
There is no way out,
You can scream and you can shout,
It is too late now

Because you have not been
Payin’ attention,
Payin’ attention,
Payin’ attention,
Payin’ attention

Yeah I feel it, I needed attention,
Payin’ attention,
Payin’ attention,
Payin’ attention

Yeah I need it, I needed attention,
I needed attention,
I needed attention,
I needed attention

Yeah I love it, the attention,
Payin’ attention,
Payin’ attention,
Payin’ attention

I try to sing along,
I get it all wrong,
‘Cause I’m not,
‘Cause I’m not
I swat ’em like flies,
But

..

..

From time to time edenbray likes to include a guest poem or two.

Usually some writing of particular quality – either old or young – traditional, diverse or controversial.

Today I am posting a RADIOHEAD song from their Hail To The Thief Album written by RADIOHEADedenbray today

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 27

LOOKING FOR LIFE’S SURPRISES

Originally written – 14.06.1986 and posted – 12.01.12 – Re-posted – 23.12.2019 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective

 

Looking For Life’s Surprises

༢ ༤

Grey bulging clouds hang like badly drawn curtains

broken by pinholes of lemon-gold laser light

whose beams create this epic set

And on the brow of skyline hill

green, grey and settled

like some armchair patient

Tripping and dancing into view

3 moorland ponies, 2 grey and 1

like silver-foil glinting

whose mane flickers and falls

Then I stood deep in woodland jungle

shielding my eyes as I searched endlessly

for the golden green drummer

whose beak drummed the hollow skins

of tall, ageless oaks

The brilliant sunlight falling and rising

in tiny motions on the rushing surface

of the passing stream which quarrelled

as well as babbled

I yawned and stretched

Where am I and am I really lost

from all gaze that is not heavenly?

Is this relentless pursuit of honesty fair?

And why even standing in dawn wind

and seeing nature unclothe its rarest beauty

Why, lost in the solitude of noon-day revelry

haunted by the strange mystery

of a woodpeckers work?

Why, when quietly musing and fashioning

moving pictures from rough-hewn

syllables and grey-edged words

Why do questions remain?

Was he right who said –

Must discontentment reign?

Or was he deceived by hearts illusions?

The misty dark clouds of reason

dented by life’s sadnesses and trials

– Or can we, like mythology’s phoenix

with feet as burnished bronze

wings charcoal and feather

heart burned and fused

beak gold like sovereigns

Can we lost in life’s metaphor

grope through, firmed by resolve?

to say yes, it has been worthwhile

For a moment, a flutter, a rush,

apple-green and lemon-yellow feather

crimson flash on chest gone

And I wait till again that resonating

distant putter and I am off

in search of a green woodpecker

..

writtenbyedenbray14.6.86

..

Why do questions remain?

..

I think Bob Dylan has said fairly recently that he doesn’t really recognise his early compositions as his own. He feels like someone else wrote them. I concur with his sentiments when reading this piece that I wrote way back in 1986. A very reflective, melancholic and honest insight into both the authors heart and mind, I would say ~ edenbray today

#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!

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