EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 19

PRINCESS

Originally posted on November 7, 2011 – Re-posted 08.12.2019

… … …

‘Princess’

. . . .

Dear one, dear heart

A moment fresh

Amidst the darkness and the clamour

is all I beg

..

We creatures of the night

so starved of heaven’s light

Our hearts so calloused and

incomplete, so tainted

..

Cold and hard

are worn of courser habit

Are born of regret

Into this darkened globe

..

I spoke the guarded prayer 

which caused the action start

Which sparked the engine’s stir

Which rid me of my care

..

Hot spears ran my cheeks

As love caught my heart

And causing me to share

the troubled nightmare

..

I lived thru’ and beyond

Creatures of night then

who travel to the high seas

Who sing the songs of joy

..

Relieved then now to know

I, a soldier to the end

since my heart was won

of passion, pride and urgent

..

This saviour’s love to know

to know so surely

May in this rhyme I find

the prayer that to the end

..

I be the soldier of a friend

So lovely and content

My prayer will never end

Dear heart, loved heart

..

I speak from air so rare

That my entire reason

will ever be to guide

you on your journey fair

..

writtenbyedenbray25.0.95

…   …

.

This poem was written for my daughter Sarah Jane in 1995

..

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

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 18

WE CANNOT BUY THE MOON

Originally written and posted 05.10.2011 Abridged version re-posted 06.12.2019

…. ….

THE MOON

.

WE CANNOT BUY THE MOON ~ an essay

 

I heard once that ‘the moon is not enough’ but for today we may say – we cannot buy the moon … John F. Kennedy’s eyes spangled and striped, sparkled wet when he told us that going to the moon ‘was a challenge we choose to accept’ – not, because it was easy but because it was hard … Today, while the stock markets around the world are looking to the politicians for words of wisdom, direction and encouragement, the politicians are looking blank … and no one really cares that America has effectively withdrawn from the space race. … The bankers hide with their stash of pornographed cash as the man in the street, whether wearing leather inners or down at heel sneakers, cannot even console himself with the promise of a brand new day, let alone ‘a brave new world’ … The moon, once so reachable and free to all comers, as the likes of Gagarin, alongside the likes of Armstrong and Aldrin, not only headed the cast of the original star-wars but fought for a valued supremacy … It was Uri who went for a spin in a sputnik while Neil and Buz got to go for a walk on the white sand and bring home sticks of rock for Uncle Sam … More than 50 years on from J.Ks optimistic rally call for man to seek only the very best for himself – the politicians are not telling us to – ask what we might do for our country, only that we should be realistic for the present and maybe optimistic for the future … The moon still sparkles like John-Boy’s eyes on a clear night in June but not even the moon can inspire us for now, as its ‘off-limits’ and motivational wordsmiths like Kennedy are presented as scary optimists who had personal weakness and human traits … Not like the rest of us then?!  … The scariest things for me are – the current manipulation of the masses by political stealth (at least have a go at lying to me), our almost universal acceptance of a cancerous, imbibed pacifism which can eat the very heart out of our nationality and the way that when we are alone, we find it increasingly hard to look up into our own particular – starry, starry night …

..

writtenbyedenbray05.10.2011re-written06.12.2019

.

..

btw P.J. Harvey is Immense

 SUBLIMINAL DE-REGULATION ~ Its a bummer… CLICK TO READ MORE!

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

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 17

THE JOLLY GREEN GIANT

Originally posted on October 6th, 2011 – Written – 07.06.1986 ~ Re-posted – 05.12.2019

~

THE JOLLY GREEN GIANT

… …

.

A green giant of a steamroller

All shiny green-grey metal, painted, polished

Made to work, to last, made well

Turning slowly its huge hardened drums

The thunder of which rumbles and snorts

A huge but friendly monster

         effortlessly crushing its charge

         smoothing everything into one smooth plane

The passage of time, the purpose of nature

Not lost on us all

As we struggle and purpose giving our best

The great iron wheels bloodied by sweat

Glisten, welcoming in the mid-morning light

Rolling on as waves of tide-turned sea

Turqoise green and thinned by waters edge

Lapping, lifting, rushed by moon-tide and

        drawn by tropic-sun and arctic-glare

Here before us as these islands draw close

These gentle oasis’, our consolation and ease

Here, the fond memories of youth softened

         like yellow leaves in September showers

         still ripe and dewy, the fruits thorn

         has lost its sharpened edge

         by want of feeling not of sense

Here in the midst of our busyness

         we find time to ponder for a minute and then again,

         the welcome friend, the sobre roll of timpani

         and we are again absorbed by this

         orchestrated overture, this ball of kitten wool

And when I’m drained and my struggle is over

When I hear nothing but the dense, fetal boom

         of wheels whirring and am secure

         that once embraced by such cold-hardened form

         the blacksmith’s forge could not heat

The rainbow scalded and branded in me

Glowing with an energy incandescant

When I’m crushed and utterly complete

It will be no more eyes-sight-smell-sound

It will be total!

Me and this jolly, green giant

This happy, welcome memory

Again, my nearest friend

I too will play on his machinery

I will marvel at his precision, his purpose

I will laugh as never young man did

I will taste wine as rich as mead

         drawn from the centre of the earth

I will be eternal and the mystery will fade

         and no longer shall word and thought

         stick like crushed pepper in the throat

I will rise and fly as a sea osprey

         or lift and flutter as a flight of sparrow

I will dream nothing but warmth and love

I will speak not word that is spoken

I will grow, I will shrink and not ounce of sweat

         will grease palm of hand or brow

Only joy will enchant me

         not hyena laugh, nor monkey chatter

I am pure, I am innocent

All because of this relentless pursuer

This noble steed draped in coloured cloth

         and mounted by silken gladiator

Whose face shines deeply with light

         and whose beauty merges both male and girl

His eyes blue, her cheeks ruddy

His hair golden, her neck long and slender

And if the mute colours of this torrid steed

         in soft pearl, berry pink and iced cobalt

Whose livery laced with silver studs,

         buckles and straps, glistens, enchanting

         as the white-gold of bridle and bit

         fire in the mouth and his grace stirs the senses

         like some deep surge of wonder

If all this beckons we, what need I fear

         the splash and fizzle of steam

         the gentle and insistent drone

         like a myriad army of honey-bees

The crushing ache of limbs caught

         in the vice of his attention

I am filled with admiration

I am enthused by tradition and heritage

         so regally before me

Me, this petit enfant

         this dreamer of dreams

         this explorer, voyeur

Me, this terrible romantic

I am no longer overwhelmed

I am at peace

I turn to meet this mystery

         hidden from my eyes

They blink and falter

Willingly they close

My arms open,

My mouth soft, smiles

I meet the cold hard wall

I give to it’s extended front

         and roll effortlessly

Under, over, under, over

Till I hear from singing in my ears

A haunting strain, a choir building

Like some holy opera

And when I stopped

         and told them I had met death

Their faces ashen-white

        were alarmed and they

        as re-run sportsmen

        began to rush, to them with speed

        to me like leaden-footed soldiers

        forward runners for the great, clad grinder

..

                           writtenbyedenbray07.06.86

(dedicated to a good friend – Jessica Phiri 05.10.2011)

..

I love it. My Jolly Green Giant used to be my bicycle. I literally felt I was a part of the pavement, the dirt, the grass, the wind. Thank you for exposing your vast inner world. JRKP

– A comment left by my good literary friend – Jessica Phiri ~ October 11, 2011

..

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

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 16

FACING OUR HISTORY

Originally posted – 06/09.09.19 – Amended – 04.12.2019 – Re-posted 04.12.2019

~

.

Facing our History

… … 

I walked down to the sea today

and saw a ship on the horizon

I held my face to the cold, grey wind

and thought of happier days.

Of course the sea – brazen, raw and honest

can be a powerful friend

Yet, I live below its surface

where the dark fish bite

Where lost treasure and squandered moments

lay like basking sharks hungry

I hear and see sad tales and lively stories

of old salts and damaged ladies

How relentless the waves

tossed green-grey and golden

However torrid, spangled, white capped

or laden with deep and murky mystery

This meeting of the ways where

so many pointed moments collide

Where the past is formed, shaped, washed

then purged by natures mother  

I can see the whole roll of  history

from here, spread out before me

The tumbling horses, mossed breakers,

sea washed milestones like sentinels

Timeframes: sticky posts, where the past

spills out like discoloured photographs

The sum of our hidden, saved and

universal, collective memories

I always touch the shoreline to

‘fold away’ now Sunday tea is cleared

There are none others with me

upon this desolate beach

While so many thoughts and persons

do sunder and suffer in this abyss of memory

. . .

writtenbyedenbray06/09.09.2011

ammended-04.12.2019

..

Authors note :- This poem was written at a time of personal reflection after illness and it deals with a recurring theme in much of my work :-

‘We were born involved with one another’

My history, your history – although relatively very dissimilar can become curiously enmeshed quite suddenly when we begin to be honest with each other and reveal the people that we are and those fundamentals that have effected all peoples from all walks of life begin to appear from the murky past of our human histories’.

– Deep maybe – but entirely fascinating as are we all – Hope you enjoy –

edenbray-today 

 

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

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 15

VENICE ~ WALKING ON WATER

Originally written and posted – 2.07.11 – Re-posted 26.11.2019


 

Venice – walking on water 

 

When you first see Venice shimmering

in the sun, it is a city walking on water

Your first inclination demands you weep 

and if heaven is a more endless sight

then only those with broken hearts may enter.

 ..

The complexion of angels,

rose strewn and blood dried the walls,

while arched bridges, lascivious, drape themselves

like artists models over the water streets

 sirens  to draw your very soul!

.. 

Sublime, quiet, candid.

So much about Venice is elegant  

.. 

writtenbyedenbray2.07.2011

..

Authors note ~ I consider the sight of Venice in sunlight as you approach by ferry across the water to be my personal 8th Wonder of the World – I have been lucky enough to see this captivating and emotionally challenging sight on many occasions and each time it has truly taken my breath away. – I am re-posting this simple and hopefully succinct piece I wrote in 2011 as part of an Edenbray – Retrospective but with a heavy heart as I am so totally aware that currently Venice City is experiencing its worst flooding for many, long years. My heartfelt prayers and best wishes go out to the people of Venice and to those committed to restoring this magnificent testimony to mankind’s most profound creativity, endeavour and determined building and engineering skills.

~ Edenbray 26.11.2019

.. 

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

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 14

The Maiden Rover

Originally written in 1998 & posted and re-written ~ July 18. 2011

funeral-6479.

. . .

Four generations stood

that cold February morning

 and heard the feet who brought the grey coffin 

crush the cold, crisp snow.

.

Four generations watched

as muscles taught

let the ropes gently slide and ease the box

of memories so precious into natures night.

 

I cannot say that all wept

or even that those who wept tasted salt

as their tears ran freely

but I saw a wonder as a flock

of blackened crows passed that morning.

.

I saw a jackdaw so frisky, its call distinct,

its nape cold grey as the sinking casket.

I wondered if those birds understood

the moment that was passing.

.

“Death comes to us all”,

I heard a neighbour speaking,

‘and after this the judgement’

I heard my thoughts collide.

.

Will we remember as fondly

 the days of summer love,

the glad surprise, the glint in her eyes

or will we dulled and angry

say goodnight for ever to the maiden rover? 

.

  ~  ~  ~

.

The land that is England seems drawn,

she has long lost her smile

and tasted of a poisoned phial,

has she so little more to say?

– goodbye maiden fair.

I’ll love thee always … always. 

.

.. . ..

.

ROMA JOAN

Roma Joan ~ a maiden rover

.. .. .. .. ..

.

writtenbyedenbray06.1998re-written18.07.2012re-written25.11.2019

.

..

This piece was originally written in 1998, it was re-written and re-posted – 18.07.2012 as a memorial to my dear mother – Roma Joan Dove/Eede/Thacker who died on the same date in 2007 and it is re-posted again today (25.11.2019) as part of a Retrospective ~ Roma Joan was a free spirit, a globetrotter, who loved to travel and discover new places. A maiden rover, a maiden fair, who we will love always ~ who I will always love …

edenbray – 18.07.1998 – ( abridged – 18.07.2012 ; abridged – 25.11.2019 )

..

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

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 13

BLACK CHERRIES

Originally posted and written 21.06.2011 – Re-published as part of an Edenbray Retrospective – 2019

black20cherry.jpeg (300×245)

 

By rain, by the colour of her hair, by the sweet, soft fragrance of her cheek

The curls fell and warmed my senses like fragrant oil warmed by a winter sun

She could never take a step by me but by her own gentle manner and stealth

Only times extravagant hands could mould feelings so hard and scarred

..

I met her on a Tues-a-day when a kite flew and hit the clouds in a bird’s egg sky

It were a bag of surprises that burst and spilled shapes, some honey and golden

It never dawned it was tangled wool in wild cherry branches, twisted and thorned

None were prettier, long-legged nor honest than the raven haired, rose-hipped Colene

..

Not Betty Ball, not Mary Lane could catch a fire while my silken maid went a walkin’ by

Or smiled, or tidied her hair – for she and a garland of forest flowers were much sweeter,

She could lean like a willow ash, laugh like a spring of morning rain, speak so softly,

Bite like mosquitoes, leave hearts raw, sore or kiss like peaches dressed in rose petals …

.

… it were a story never told nor finished

.

writtenbyedenbray21.11.2019

..

 A POEM REVIEW ~ “I WANT TO READ THIS POEM”

I tried to write this poem, raw and straight from the heart just as a love poem should be. Countless people know that numbing, paralysing feeling of being ‘hurt’ in love.
That is what I have tried to capture. The raven haired beauty ‘ a gaelic darling who is blissfuly unaware of the damage she does – until one day she feels that same raw, heart scrape of unrequited love. It’s cold, simple, uncomplicated and painful. ~ Aww just shocking!

~ edenbray

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

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 12

BLUE & GREEN SHOULD NEVER BEEN SEEN

Originally posted and written – May 2011

 

Blue and Green Should Never Be Seen

An Essay

 

I have spent more than a few hours of my life pondering the manners of the ant. Their fierce, defiant, determination and innate, indestructible loyalty. Their abundant energy and iron resolve to get the job done whilst working to an obvious, considered and shared strategy. Surely no insect or animal has more right to the title ‘team player’. There are no super egos evident whilst ‘Joe Ant’ goes about his work achieving his daily quota.

They also seem to possess a magical, secret hearing sensor. Could ants actually have a sixth sense? This eerie intelligence causes them to ‘freeze’ when an adjacent brother ant is in distress as though they have heard a private and silent scream.

For all their many noble and worthy traits  – tick not required when the ant is attacked or it senses danger from a defeatable foe. They can become, at a stroke, an unholy, ruthless, killing machine, savage and focussed. A swarming, unruly mob, without temerity or fear who will defend their queen with self sacrifice, skill in combat and a passion that a Ghurka regiment could lust for. It was not for nothing that King Solomon suggested ‘Consider the ant, thou sluggard.’

Scottish government ministers recently called for representatives of the two major Glasgow football clubs to attend discussions with a remit to arrive at some sort of healthy compromise and renew efforts to bring the supporters of both historic fan base’s together and move toward a more healthy future. A ceasefire if you like with reasoned debate, which did consequently lead to a 6 point agreement between the clubs including restrictions on alcohol sales on game days, increased police input and involvement added to a more stringent club commitment to separate both organisations from potential volatile actions or behaviour from either club, players or officials.

Did these scarily optimistic, socialistic pilgrims, walking their own private Yellow Brick Road have any awareness that at one stroke they, like Jonathan Edwards in search of an olympic gold were landing two perfect feet in a pair of termite mounds not much further apart than the combined length of Copland Road and the Gallowgate. Two entrenched mounds with communities steeped in a rich and intense sectarian history that looks back over hundreds of years with all the embedded guilt, revenge and hatred endemic in a hotbed of partizan, gaelic history fuelled by so much past religious prejudice and bigotry.

 

Do the government ministers, the directors of these two world famous football clubs, police representatives or intelligent observers truthfully consider that simply by casting the Cyclops eye of governmental procedure and concern over these issues and drawing up a systematised, strategic plan of action they might be able to resolve the deep rooted conflicts and traditions that lie within not only the wider Glasgow community, the Scottish/Irish national tradition, but indeed the very heart beat of the global football world.

Nearly every footballing nation can point to at least two famous clubs whose contests produce an atmosphere of tension, intense rivalry bordering on hatred which is far more than football related.

Spread the arc of compass a little wider and you would find that these sporting conflicts are not limited to football alone but baseball in America, ice hockey in the Czech Republic, Australian rules in —– Australia? and even the gentleman’s game of cricket in parts of India and other parts of south Asian subcontinent. There is no getting away from the intrinsic link between sporting prowess and societies tribal heart beat.

Modern mankind wearing his/her democratic suit seeks constantly to reorder the past, desensitise and cleanse the slough of history and human cultural exchange, a sort of clinical genocide where human forces and passions become annexed then anaesthetised and ultimately amputated.

Conspiracy theorists might make a convincing case to prove that governments welcome societies identification with sporting franchises rather than aligning itself to more dangerous, subversive, either radical, political groups or religious fundamentalist factions. What such governments might fail to recognise is that people historically have attached human ideologies by transference to their sporting favourites and that successfuly moving to a new location often involves not only accepting the local team but its historic traditions and background as well.  

Competitive sports teams the world over feed on the culture of their national politics, wars, ethnic origins and of course religion.

Each country may claim to have the football or sporting match with the greatest rivalry and in England even different regions might reckon to boast the bigger conflict. In Glasgow it is certainly a matter of Scottish pride and when they say that there is no more intense atmosphere than at a Rangers and Celtic ‘Auld firm’ derby they sincerely believe it. Having been at 3 Glasgow derbies in the 60’s/70’s I personally am not about to disagree.

However, football fans the world over have their national ‘grudge match’. When Bucharest teams Steau and Dinamo meet in the ‘Marela’ or ‘Great Derby’ there are 13 known gangs operating among the Steau ‘ultras’. In 1997, the fanatical supporters of Dinamo, whose roots stem from the Romanian ‘Ministry of Defence’ managed to set Steau’s Peluda Sud stadium alight during one such ‘Derby’ match. 

Similar stories the world over exist as past loyalties, political and religious are excuses fans use to build certain games up to fever pitch importance. Whether its Barcelona v Real Madrid, the battle of the two Milan’s, Paris St Germain v Marseilles or even Boston United at Lincoln City. 

Buenos Aires in Argentina is the setting for the famed ‘superclasico’ between Boca Juniors, the team from the poor quarter and River Plate who represent the richer classes. This game was listed No.1 in the Observers ‘50 Sporting things you must do before you die’, such is the aura, the passion, excitement and tension this game generates.

Of course sporting rivalries exist outside of football like the famous Ali/Foreman ‘Rumble In The Jungle’ fights in the 70’s. Today, we have seen the Federer and Nadal tennis series  develop. Ice hockey, Basketball, Baseball, all have their big rivalries! From Aubora and Alabama in the College scene t0 the Giants and the Jets in the NFL. From the Red Sox and Yankees in Baseball to the Geelong Cats and Port Adelaide in Aussie Rules! 

Fortunately, rivalries are not always acrimonious and ugly but they do always run a lot deeper than, it seems to me, the authorities are prepared to accept ….. I sincerely wish those who have drawn up the ‘6 point plan’ the very best of luck, but if building and publishing this plan manages to sort out centuries of Scottish/Irish conflict that has existed long before William of Orange slew the finian catholics in 1690 at the Battle of the Boyne and was exacerbated as recently as the 1930’s by Glasgow’s ‘billy boys’ a gang of hard men who terrorised Glasgow catholics then I will be surprised. The stories and tails are indeed endless and this project can at best only scratch at the surface of issues that need tackling on a far deeper level, if tackled they can be at all. 

Sport certainly holds a key to wrapping up many demons of histories painful atrocities but only a sensitivity to the limit this can be achieved will enable any small progress at all. The rivalries and histories sporting contests conceal and contain are a necessary safety valve that if meddled with or restrained too fully might rebound upon society in far uglier ways. 

This governmental strategy smacks to me of a prohibition of the one of the few means the regular guy on the street still possesses to help him believe he has a real voice at all. ‘Big Brother’ beware, meddle with these special allegiances at your peril. These factions and feelings exist and actually already act as a proactive and healthier initiative than their origins and instigators. 

The true football, sports fan is after all like an ant. 

They are loyal and determined, the consummate team players. They will stand by their chosen ‘queen’ team through thick and thin and defend their ‘club’ with passion, ingenuity and skill when others attack or ridicule them. When cornered they show tremendous unity and an iron resolve which although painful in defeat brings satisfaction and exaltation in victory. There are not many stronger human ties than the loyalty shown than by a fan for their team.

Let governments listen and learn, not meddle and mess, when assessing the behavior of impassioned sports fans, for nations would do well rather to bottle and mainstream such passion and pride into their communities water source. A shot of what they are toting from their own volition, at their own expense and in the face of success or failure would do many a nations spirit more than a world of good. 

‘SORRY SEEMS TO BE THE HARDEST WORD’

– ANOTHER ELTON SONG – BUT JOE’S EX-VOICE

APPENDIX – INTERESTING ARTICLES ETC

Rangers-Celtic-steps-stamp-trouble-Old-Firm-derbies.html 

    

Blue and Green Should Never Be Seen

writtenbyedenbrayMay2011

 

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

                 

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DISABLED & HAMSTRUNG

DISABLED and HAMSTRUNG

mythology

Mythology

… …

I go to a very private place

Ive been waiting for this sentinel, my academia

Long lines of freedom detached,

Surrounded, astounded, confounded

and four the white horses walking in front of me

… …

and it’s said patience be a virtue

who wanders in a shroud of darkest reason

but never is a friend or a river in flood

Or bears the thunder of hooves

Or types sweet messages of love while I sleep

… …

St. Tarquin arrives with his sleeves rolled up

accompanied by his three barest bosomed wives

Adronnicus, Hermeclet and Lysinnius

each worth more than a long nights consideration

and we all end up plying Rummy-gin

… …

The dawning of morning brings the subject of politicia

Percicullus, Thailemon and Arcadius

arriving to summon the welcome of the 4 moons

The music not great but more often that’s the persons playing

And a bridled pony dressed in blue velvet and gold

… …

Haggard the women, paunched the men

Who strolling in their quarters succumb to the strangest order

It is a sadness that we all must meet our end

Our names be carved in vaguest clouds of memory

A wispy, transient, unreliable precipitation

… …

Our ability to earn as always is the highest degree

Admiration, celebration, condescension

The true street-dwellers still searching for the verdant valley

Nae’ joined ta’ tree-huggers nor indeed learnin’ tha’ beggar arts

They still standing tall with the shoulders of giants

… …

I seen fire and I seen rain – quoth he – so settled on his haunches

And those ‘salad days’ – I thought would never end 

Walk with me dear heart, we may walk around the bend

‘One time’ to stand upright within the aisle

And sample then one moment of all thats brave or strong

… …

Ulysses, Themistocles, Amphictyonis

champions all – stip-stepping from the ring enough to curtsy

Empowering the quiet army of the intelligentsia

Who play with their genitals while softly forming words

of their own choosing, valour or construction

… …

Terminus, omnium rerum finem par est

The greyest of all moons aligns with all we consider galvanising 

The fairest shines, the smallest curved yet is still benign

Only the full moon contests the end of all things is equal

While the bravest Andronemus flutters alone in search of it’s sequel

… …

writtenbyedenbrayfinishing-thursday,21st.november,2019.

… …

dealing with alcoholism

… dealing with alcoholism …

.

authors-comment ~ maybe the world as I see it right now but then I don’t tell you how to write – edenbray

 

 

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 11

..

grace again

In the depths of me

the sadness folds a linen cloth

a white sheet, a captains ensign

It seems like the colours have drained

as though we turned down

the colour on the tv

In a moment the fire will return

and again our cheeks will burn

for now its ‘a cold’ and its ‘a hard’

The folded cloth could of course

be a flag of peace to fly

a flannel, a comfort for the tears we cry

This wind of change blows so rarely

you are glad it comes at all

tho’ it interrupts the rivers flow

the son-rise is so assured

certain as the night is dark

clean with hope, a joy triumphant

Its hard to say what door grace finds

when so many walls have none

but grace is charming like a song.

..

writtenbyedenbray27.10.98-ammended20.04.11

..

3 days

in the crucible

in the testing fire

in the cold and dark

in the heat of battle

in the slow cooker

in the grey dread

in the days that end

in the depths of sin

in the hopeless morn

in the pain and shame

in the journey worn

in the mire and gall

in the jaw that bit

in all this we sit

in this empty hell

in this where nothing grows

in this the Saviour rose

..

writtenbyedenbray07.10.1999-revisions23.04.2011

..

… Originally written in 1998/99 – almost exactly 12 months apart –  grace again & 3 days were kind of ‘spiritual-bookends’ – My Easter Soliloquy …

Image – ECCO HOMO by edenbray – after Georges Roualt

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

https://edenbraybray.wordpress.com/2011/04/10/kdu-mag-easter-soliloquy/

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