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

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#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 RADIOHEAD – edenbray 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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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 26

MARIANNE

Originally written and posted – 21.01.2012 ~ This was written in appreciation of poetry by Langston Hughes – the ‘Jazz’ poet

Re-posted- 21.12.2019 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective 

 

…

Marianne

… …

Marianne was an ordinary girl

born in an ordinary town and

she wore a flower-print dress

☤

Her brother Cane stole her honour

when she was still seventeen

and Marianne she did not cry

☤

Only promised that one day

while he weren’t looking

that he would certainly die

☤

Marianne skipped, not walked

when no one else was looking and

helped her mother with the cooking

☤

She had no friends apart from Tye

and tho’ that girls eyes filled up

she never had learned to cry

☤

She walked at night through

the lonesome Blacktown Wood

and talked her heart to Jesus

☤

She managed not to listen too

while them dumb river-boys

nagged with ribbons of abuse

☤

She dreamed of living with her sisters

near the ‘trotting’ racetrack

on the high road out of Syracuse

☤

Her father had bought her home

a pair of grey-blue sneakers

and she wore them till they tore

☤

She lay that night so hurt

on her palette bed watching stars

and realising why she swore

☤

Walking to work in the fall

it was her very first day

all she could do was smile

☤

She walked the long route

through Bennis-field cemetery

so she could feed them ponies

☤

‘Six-bits’ and one quarter

would give her a dollar each day

that she worked in tha’ fac-tor-ee

☤

Marianne so plain, so pretty

She kept her vermillion smile

from six in the morning till four

☤

When she heard the tale

of her brothers tragic death

she just sat and made her face

..

writtenbyedenbray21.01.2012

… …

..

☤ ☤ ☤

This poem is a dual-tribute to Langston Hughes, who wrote such great word combinations. Langston  was known as the jazz -poet and I have included here two pieces by the great man himself alongside my piece and some Articles and other random stuff and pictures – reflecting on this great and largely unrecognised writer that I have linked/lifted from Wikepedia the Free encyclopedia – which I subscribe to and support. I hope you enjoy these thoughts and writings and the idea behind them. – eb. 

☤ ☤ ☤

..

Six-Bits Blues

by Langston Hughes

…

Gimme six-bits’ worth o’ ticket
On a train that runs somewhere.
I say six-bits’ worth o’ ticket
On a train that runs somewhere.
I don’t care where it’s goin’
Just so it goes away from here. 

Baby, gimme a little lovin’
But don’t make it too long.
A little lovin’, babe, but
Don’t make it too long.
Make it short and sweet, your lovin’,
So I can roll along.

I got to roll along!

..

☤ ☤ ☤

..

The Negro Artist and The Racial Mountain

by Langston Hughes

…

The younger Negro artists who create now intend to express
our individual dark-skinned selves without fear or shame.
If white people are pleased we are glad. If they are not,
it doesn’t matter. We know we are beautiful. And ugly, too.
The tom-tom cries, and the tom-tom laughs. If colored people
are pleased we are glad. If they are not, their displeasure
doesn’t matter either. We build our temples for tomorrow,
strong as we know how, and we stand on top of the mountain
free within ourselves.

The night is beautiful,
So the faces of my people.

The stars are beautiful,
So the eyes of my people

Beautiful, also, is the sun.
Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

…

☤ ☤ ☤

…

Three further links to Wikipedia Articles  >>>

…

Langston Hughes and ‘jazz poetry’ ~ Wikipedia the Free Encyclopedia

Vermillion or Vermilion as listed on Wikipedia

‘Six-bits blues’

 

☤

..

…

..

Original comment by Edenbray :    I tried to write this piece – clipped and plain – in a kind of staccato rhythm  –  just like jazz … this, after all is a sort of tribute to Langston Hughes who they give ‘jazz poetry’ to  …  but as with all good jazz – John Coltrane – Miles Davis – etc -etc  Jazz – it may rhyme and fall …  it may not … it can improvise … it can divert … tangent … it’s just an idea … a little random but it has a classic trail … I’m obsessed with traditional America … but there’s some Britain in it too – its kind of mixed! … #jazz

…

 

☤ ☤ ☤

… … …

Transcript from Jerry Maguire – the movie …

EX. Transcript Jerry Maguire

 EXT. PORCH -- NIGHT                Jerry on the porch, as Chad exits.  Chad now fully plays the
              part of friend with seniority.  Looks the taller Jerry up and
              down.
  CHAD                         Treat her right, man.  She's...

 93.    JERRY                                (self-conscious)
                        Yeah... well...
  CHAD                         She's great.  And I know this is
                        a little awkward, but I want you
                        to use this.
               Chad ruumages in bag for a moment.  Jerry is somewhat
              horrified at what Chad might be giving him.  Out comes a
              cassette tape.
  CHAD                                (continuing; intense)
                        This... is Miles Davis and John
                        Coltrane. Stockholm.  1963... two
                        masters of freedom, playing in a
                        time before their art was
                        corrupted by a zillion cocktail
                        lounge performers who destroyed
                        the legacy of the only American
                        artform -- JAZZ.
               Jerry takes the tape, as the front door squeaks open.
              Dorothy shoos Chad away, quietly leads Jerry inside.


milesdavis
Miles Davis

 

john_coltrane
John Coltrane
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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 25

SO LONG BLUES

Originally written and posted – 31.01.2012 – Re-posted – 19.12.2019 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective ~ an example of Jazz Poetry


… … …

The ~ So Long Blues

☂

I bin’ searchin’ and hungrin’ so long

Keeps’a lookin’ for the end … of the trail

and all I see’s is more grey, muddy water

more pale, scales – pictures o’ ma’ daughter

doin’ things, sayin’ things, she ain’t oughtta’

My life!? I bin’ kickin’ stones since I were six

Walkin’ roads with this train tumblin’ after

Smoke train, cattle train, gridded an’ cold

while I’s bin’ searching for that cave full o’gold

an’ I knows its round here some place, baby!

My pappy he once hit me round the face

Says, now son listen, this is just to tell you

Ain’t no one knows you better than your sell’

When you is on your knees, that is the safest place

Now get up son and be a MAN sometime!

I bin’ travellin’ on my knees for a lo-ong time

I bin’ tryin’ to be good, like my pappy

Een’ though that double ba-stard!

Tricked me an’ ma’ mom and left us

Holding no more than a pile a’ bills and a shack! 

Am’ listenin’ to this good ole’ night owl holler

He over there in them black-green bushes

I like to see them flyin’, cos they do what I cain’

Fly outta this damn place and keep on flyin’

Thass’ what I’d do anyway’s

..

.

… nice talkin’

.

writtenbyedenbray31.01.2012

abridged19.12.2019

♞

… this is a tribute to Linda Manz who provided the voice over on the genius Terence Mallick piece of art ~ ‘Days Of Heaven’

..

Linda: This farmer, he had a big spread, and a lot of money. Whoever was sitting in a chair when he’d come around, why they’d stand up and give it to him.

..
Linda: Wasn’t no harm in him. You’d give him a flower, he’d keep it forever.

..

This was another example of JAZZ poetry that I wrote at the time – it’s emotive, dramatic, honest, symbolic … what do you think?

..

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

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 24

MARIE

Originally written and posted – 05.01.2012 – Re-posted – 17.12.2019

as part of an Edenbray Retrospective

… …

 

… …

MARIE

…

I caught the end of that summer when mayflies hatch and shimmer briefly

She had intoxicated me like soldiers gin and the burr of overripe barley

Her smile as keen and hearty as a cluster of blossom grapes crushed and bloodied

Her long, lanky legs made her stumble and skip like a new-born circus pony

†††°††

The war had drawn the soul of a nation, defined in lines of raw and burnt sienna

but through the worst Marie had written letters in rosehip and pure, raw honey

Her soft, children’s hands carried apples for winter and tied ribbons in curly gold

while she practised waiting for trains where sad stories may only falter and end

°

She taught by the experience of artful innocence and a blind, sanguine opulence

These she wore like garlands of convolvulus and ivy both pretty, pale and capricious

Her tousled hair was a generous reminder of how water is both gentle and perilous

and I soon learned that it were better to watch butterflies gambol than try to catch them

°

I caught her scent once on a trail at a Sunday afternoon traveling carnival and felt

I had never smelt nor seen a woman so fair or honest, she made the wind howl

and when that following summer certain boys in army flannel returned, arms full of care

I questioned whose need was greater those who fight or the slaves who govern the moon

°

For Marie there were no questions only causes to be dealt with by patience and candour

while her blouse, buttoned and laced, enchanted me more than a mermaid or siren  

whose spells I fell under without knowing name, birthplace or the deep-sea that roars

they were the many voices that called, like forgotten friends who appear in dreams

°

It was again late in the burnt September that I heard a bird with the bluest, blue feathers

and knew he had slipped in the wind on his forage trail so I kneeled for two hours long 

I drank of the hope he carried in that lonely night between marbled war and stoney peace

That bird lit a fire in my heart whose embers glowed and thrilled as only captains dream.

..

° 

writtenbyedenbray05.01.2012

 

..

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

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EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 23

UNTITLED

Originally written & posted ~ 20.12.2011 – Re-posted – 16.12.2019

as part of an Edenbray retrospective

… …
japonica – a God flower

UNTITLED

…   …

Gonna’ hang my head in sorrow

Gonna’ hang my head in shame

I got the trouble and I got the blame

For the freedom I borrowed

Is now to me a torture and a pain

She came up on the airwaves

Bright hope, n’she gave a spark to life

Kindred people, foursquare down

they’re all holding hands and praying

While the masters son on that sunlit night

was here while the wolves were baying

And he saw that same pain and terror

He caught the image of our scarred remains

No hospital bed for him either

Just jagged nails, un-planed wood…

Come now people who gather

Hear the blessed words of a tiger

as the blood is letting from a torn paw

from a grey-cold broken heart

from a coat so blood-stained and striped 

from a broken dream as close as a promise

and from a simple prayer somewhere

for a brand new start – an honest start

Jasmine, Japonica, sweet smelling flower, 

warm, generous and so full of light!

..

writtenbyedenbray(anditsnearlyChristmas)20.12.11

Re-posted16.12.2019

..

My poetry is almost always about ‘feeling’ – I like to fuse tradition, history, religion, spirituality together – To me, most of the time – these things are indivisible – I hate categories, classifications, set genres and labelling of any kind – make what you will of this piece – but of course I hope you like it.

( ~ Previous comment :~ Precious Christ knows our failures; our demons; our misgivings. You’ve turned pain into grace. I am touched and humbled. ~ Jessica Renea )

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

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