THE JOLLY GREEN GIANT
Originally posted on October 6th, 2011 – Written – 07.06.1986 ~ Re-posted – 05.12.2019
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THE JOLLY GREEN GIANT
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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
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writtenbyedenbray07.06.86
(dedicated to a good friend – Jessica Phiri 05.10.2011)
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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
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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
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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 …
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writtenbyedenbray05.10.2011re-written06.12.2019
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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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