EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 40

THE IRAQI CHILD

Originally written and posted ~ 7th February, 1991 – Re-posted ~ 6th January, 2020 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective.

… … …

the iraqi child

… … …

.

The Iraqi Child

⚗

Sometimes I travel deeply into myself

As though obsessed I am aware of the danger

I find things hidden in the soft folds of flesh

As though hiding from the freshness of light

and as I encounter these strange, deep feelings

I meet not only myself

but someone stricken through with all the

Raw emotion and pain

Common surely to people all over

I meet the Iraqi child

O God, the Iraqi child, have mercy!

⚗

At times I wish only to be bright

One who skips and bounds on the surface

One who laughs with a childhood glee

but then, Oh the Iraqi child

Oh God, the Iraqi child, have mercy

… … …

.

writtenbyedenbray07.02.1991

..

#Authors Note – Hopefully this piece is self explanatory – a sincerely personal heartfelt piece ~ a prayer! – Where children are involved, surely the rules of life, domestic and national politics, civil discord and unrest or war are challenged – Oh God the Iraqi child.      edenbraytoday

… …

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

… … …

jimmy carter

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 39

THE BARAIZUIN

Originally written and posted ~ 18, March, 2012 – Re-posted ~ 6, January, 2020 as part of an Edenbray retrospective.

… … …

The “Ba-rai-zuin”

… …

…

BALADIN’S DREAM PART VII

…

₮  ₮  ₮  ₮

…

He fought the Ba-rai-zuin when the snow was thick n’ chillin’

He journeyed a’top the western slopes, his husky pack a’skewin’

He bought a musket from a store where th’whusky wasa’ brewin

“He Slew the Bah-rai-Zuin”

…

₮  ₮  ₮  ₮

…

Nor many months his honey chile had been gently ‘picininnis’ grewin’

So he took him a jug, 1/2 a pig-hog and a length of beef jerky fa’ chewin’

The ole smokestack was noe’ cold from the biddy and the engine slewin’

“DemBala, he slew the Bah-rai-Zuin”

…

₮  ₮  ₮  ₮

…

He panned for gold by the River Shore where dem’ grey fish die a’ queue-in’

Yet these tales he told to the worn an’ bold did not go real well with tha’ tellin’

Till he told them all of his miraculous fall, wi’ Jud, dn’ the jag’d falls of E’rin

“They kinda’ knew, he slew the Bah-rai-Zuin”

…

₮  ₮  ₮  ₮

…

‘Manitok – is Rugged’ she bore him tha’ child he loved, his virgin bride her eyes so wide

Two weeks later down in the northern range his ‘Creedmor’ and two bearskins by his side

A fren’ brought news of ‘Manirik’ – his sweet-soft ‘panik’ an’ Baladin he broke down and cried

“Who slew the Bah-rai-zuin?”

…

₮  ₮  ₮  ₮

…

Ole’ Porcupine has ice that makes a’cut in Yukon terri-tory as summer bees are clustrin’

They fight to keep ‘us’ warm, not freeze, yet starve beyon’ tha blu’ Mackenzie Mount’n

Where Baladin has wrestled cold and spied the Alligator’s ash, one-part the ‘Ring of Fire’

‘and quenched the Bah-rai-zuin, his blood desire’

…

₮  ₮  ₮  ₮

…

Who’s howl awakened death, brought tha’ wind to heel, where blood runs to cold in night-light?

For pirates of the Klondyke, this creature wore their match and sent many home to town

 DemBala the wolf-master, he tamed the pack by stealth for only he knew a killing grasp

“He who slew the Bah-rai-zuin” – stone dead!

…

₮  ₮  ₮  ₮

…

writtenbyedenbray18.03.12 

… … …

” ‘Manitok – is Rugged’ she bore him tha’ child he loved,”

 

” Manirik, his sweet-soft ‘panik’ ”

‘ a smooth piece of ice’

₮

glossary of terms – esk – picininni – baby : panik – esk – a daughter : River Porcupine and Mackenzie Mountain are both in the Yukon territory of NW Canada, as is the Alligator, a volcanic geezer, one of five known collectively as the ‘Ring of Fire’. Other stuff is down to poetic interpretation … the idea is – you sing the last line of each verse …

#Authors note ~ The LEGEND of Baladin continues apace with this descriptive piece describing the time he spent in the Yukon Valley which is a writers paradise for literature and the famous Klondyke tales. This is Part VII of the Omnibus that is Baladin. The Chapters or Parts are not recorded, posted or written in chronological order! . It also then becomes a kind of homage to Jack London and his snowy tales that I so loved as a child. It also speaks of Manitok, Baladins Eskimo bride who bore Baladin his children – or so continues the myth and adds to the story as it goes!                                    edenbraytoday

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

 

 

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 38

REMPALA MEWS

Originally written and posted ~ 08/29.04.2012 – Re-posted – 04.01.2020 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective

… …

REMPALA MEWS

… …

… …

he waited for her on the corner

                                                  on the corner of a black cloud

where he caught sight of her            

                 talking with friends         

                                                     walking with friends

from the factory in a grey blue tunic

                       they wear to protect their clothes

                                                   his love precluded, his temerity excluded

he walked on alone … and lonely

       to where the maidens gather

                                            the maidens gentle who chitter chatter

                      in his head and in his mind

and thoughts expressed, so full, so kind

                               and the love that makes you blind 

♡

A cold wind blew that night

                                 in Rempala Mews when he saw the girl

the girl with the straight black hair

                      a heart of gold … a heart of treasure

                 who stole his own without a care

and when he told her the time of day

                               she laughed and made him smile

                                      as though he cried,

               as though his soul near died

with the plaster on the wall crumbling

                            and he just one more day troubled

                                        without the girl he loved

                     his stomach doubled

                  for that girl for whom he cared

that midnight tale, this august hail

                                 it whips and whistles across a warmer wind

and sleights the meaning

         of our honest feelings

  the night his soul he bared

and stepped from fear, the cage

          to confront the ghosts of deceit

and treachery and betrayal and rage

there where on the corner 

                             on the corner of the street

               a morbid dog with skulking ways

and knotted fur in the street light shining

where streaks the rain

         describing only a cowed lovers pain

free now to run away a drain pipe drain

                    I’d wait for thee upon this palest corner

I’d be thee a friend till hell has frozen over

                     and all I have for thee is promise golden

                             with not a single treachery or lies

                     no sad surprise

my sweet lady factory worker

… … …

writtenbyedenbray8.04.2012/29.04.2012

Re-posted05.01.2020

.

…

……

jessica phiri says:

O my God this is beautiful.

 

#Authors note ~ I wrote this as an attempt to get inside ‘feeling’. A lot of my work around this time centred on unrequited, jilted, unfulfilled love. A love that cannot be, may still be alive?

Here is a story written in my own fairly unique and developed ‘jazz’ -style that I had attempted and experimented with before – By using a different kind of prose spacing and very little punctuation it allows a staccato, raw, stripped-down kind of analysis in words, an attempt to un-hinge the reader and make themselves seem more like an innocent bystander and not a voyeur.

There is a vague feeling engendered in the piece to indicate maybe there is a dog involved or maybe just a star-crossed lover, both, or maybe they are one and the same who wait patiently at the corner of Rempala Mews just hoping to catch a sight of the object of their infatuation and love as she returns home weary and dirty from her factory occupation. Not sure she would welcome his advances right now but under the right conditions you just never know ?? ~ … … …     edenbray today

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

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 37

BALADIN’S DREAM ~ PART II – THE STORM

Originally written in July, 1991 and posted 14 February, 2012 ~ Re-posted 03 January 2020 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective

… …

 

BALADIN’S DREAM

PART Ⅱ

…

THE STORM

…

☩ ☩ ☩

Merciless was the sea that sent spray

As fine as angel’s breath into the mist

Sea-skuas danced, twisting and planing

In search of bloodless prey

Waves, deep and cavernous as mountain rocks

Gripped and threw the small boat fiercely

Its bulwarks heaved, creaked, moaned,

The dark night a blanket of anxious dreams

Which swept on, as shoreline lights

Sparked on the horizon

A fond memory of shore nights, warm sheets

and comforts embrace

Flickering but faintly, whilst the gallant seamen

Wrestled the evil night

Baladin was delivered the tide

In soft mornings broken peace

He lay wrapped with discarded blankets

Shivering and thankful as a child

Returning from weekend excursions

This tale, his sad eyes lit with the farmhouse lantern

and told in memory of his sweet friend Mar

Who was carried from the beach by the village men

Who found Baladin so uncertain and dazed

The morning after that awful storm broke

So malevolent and merciless

…

☩ ☩ ☩

writtenbyedenbray07.1991

.

☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩

.

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 36

THE WORKHORSE

Originally written circa. ~ 1992 as a frontispiece for an Edenbray Art Exhibition of Paintings of Workhorses and Lincolnshire Landscapes – Poem was Posted ~ 16 February, 2012 – Re-posted ~ 2 January, 2020 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective

… …

The Workhorse

✴

Hold hard the workhorse as I trial and sweat

Hold hard his image whose head held proud

I hear the sound of chain and leather

and the hoof which treads heavy

✴  ✴  ✴

The mauve and grey sky does bite

Left hard and nicely cruel

To cut winters sod and crumble

To the edge of steel forged white

✴  ✴  ✴

I am trained to this and others for to teach

As bound to brothers, sisters

We do tramp the earths border

To send the harrow deep

✴  ✴  ✴

The girth glistens in pale sun

Caught with the fury and the snort

Of steam and rough energy

The buckles and straps glisten and shine

✴  ✴  ✴

The rough ‘scrape’ and dust that settles on my brow

And dries the throat so coarsely

In clouds my blinkered eyes peer thru’

To see the hope of man’s invention

✴  ✴  ✴

Hold hard the workhorse whose step and sway

Measured by the ploughman’s eye 

Fettered by his guiding rope, bonded by his patient care

Is given reign to ply his honest trade

✴  ✴  ✴

 

writtenby♞edenbraycirca.1992

…

…

Dedicated to Jessica my best and most discerning critic ~ who works herself into the ground.

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 35

BALADIN’S DREAM ~ PART I

Originally written ~ July 27, 1991 – 1st posted ~ February 8, 2012 – Re-posted January 1, 2020 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective

… …

BALADIN’S DREAM

PART Ⅰ

BALADIN’S DREAM

☨ ☨ ☨

A stream of prosaic adventures

like clouded marble glass

lit within by holy fire

illumined and permeated by

citrus light that grows outward

☨ ☨ ☨  

Journeys made in smooth streams

timeless travel on limitless purpose

the gold-crowned clouds of bird-blue skies

a wild and spattered foundation

for the unimaginable imagined

☨ ☨ ☨

Clean, rushing water

bronze, round pebbles

and rainbow clusters hidden

Baladin’s dream abounds

unrestrained, the danger point passed

his mind rushing on into the

green garden of summer delights

☨ ☨ ☨

Freedom personified and only music in his ears

sometimes light as shepherd flutes and gypsy fiddles

others grandiose and building

but always triumphant and bronze-gold

☨ ☨ ☨

Baladin has seen many muddied summers

soured moments caught as struggling 

flies held by indescribable murk

☨ ☨ ☨

He has felt cold winds that dry and burn

and has lain parched, unwanted,

in deserts fading fire

☨ ☨ ☨

He has for a time known the dull blank blindness

of a night which has no end

and seen bloody pain

☨ ☨ ☨

Held the hand of tortured flesh

sat beside the spirits of the abused

and also known the rush of blood

the fire of unholy passion, ugly greed

☨ ☨ ☨

He, for a time was a victim of grey forces

whose stench and tireless intrigue

had led him naked and fettered

sightless and without cause

☨ ☨ ☨

Baladin was now an old man

his hair long and greyed, hanging loosely

his wisdom now only made him

forget the ugly tales he might tell

of recollections and reflections the old are

prone to and feel deserved of

☨ ☨ ☨

Baladin sat with his mother-wife who had

known so much of him and yet so little

Love as blind as new-born leverets

had knit them as a well-worn rug

and they two could ponder

on the wonder of a blushed red sun 

as it lay in the twilight

grey-blue streamers coiled around

and running through it

the form of two naked lovers held forever

☨ ☨ ☨

Baladin’s mind and spirit left now to wonder

looked out and beyond into the bright morning

he travelled the skua-skies

journeys wondrous birds make twice a year

and dreamed a dream so beautiful …

( to be continued …)

☨ ☨ ☨

.. ..

writtenbyedenbray27.07.91

..

#Authors note ~ Baladin, my ageless yet ancient companion, my friend and advisor, my confidant, my alter-ego. He is a Leonardo cartoon, an unfinished Hemingway, a lesser-known album by Radiohead, a Heaney scribbled verse, a Picasso drawing that one Carlos Garcia found in a box in a Madrid attic, He is a Turner watercolour sketch that I stole in one mad moment from the Clore Gallery Archive at the Tate*. He is a fine bottle of Barolo or Montepulciano. Baladin is a priest, he is a sensuous lover, a good husband, a pioneer, a hunter, an explorer, a visionary. ~ He is someone you might trust and retire to on a dark night when you were anxious, troubled or afraid. Baladin has always kind of been … …

He is a poet, a prophet, a soothsayer, a dreamer of dreams, Baladin is dangerously wise. Baladin has seen it all and more. More than most anyway and yet he still emerges into the sunlight, out of the blizzard or into the rain. He still steps up and steps forward for yet more of this tortured, human experience.                                             ~ edenbray ~ today

..

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

..

 

More of Baladin?

BALADINS DREAM PART II  ~ > BALADIN’S DREAM PART II

BALADINS DREAM PART III ~ > BALADIN’S DREAM PART III

BALADINS DREAM PART IV ~ > BALADIN’S DREAM PART IV

…

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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 to – Paul 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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