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

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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

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#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.

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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.

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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.

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“Death comes to us all”,

I heard a neighbour speaking,

‘and after this the judgement’

I heard my thoughts collide.

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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? 

.

  ~  ~  ~

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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. 

.

.. . ..

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ROMA JOAN

Roma Joan ~ a maiden rover

.. .. .. .. ..

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

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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 )

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#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 …

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… it were a story never told nor finished

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writtenbyedenbray21.11.2019

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 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 …

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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

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… 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/

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

EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 10

Originally posted April 20, 2011  ~ Written 08.05.1990

. . .

cows

. . .

cows …

standing around, sitting about,

nothing special is it,

this day is as good as the rest,

the grass over there is some of the best

i’m dreaming, i’m staring,

i’m giving my all,

this moment is passing, the next is for you

. . .

writtenbyedenbray08.05.90

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

COWS …

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

EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 9

. . .

MY EASTER SOLILOQUY

Originally posted on April 20, 2011 ~ written 27.10.98

…

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

..

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

https://edenbray.wordpress.com/2011/04/20/my-easter-soliloquy/

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

EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 8

FAREN and MELIOR

Originally posted on April 10, 2011 ~ Written 30.06.90 ~ Revised 10.04.2011
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BALADIN’S DREAM PART VIII

...

FAREN and MELIOR

☀  ☼  ☀

Melior, the strange creature

stumbled toward him

in a blind and ashen fit

he frothed and tore at him

with blind rage and anger

he was lost in an uncontrollable frenzy.

☀  ☀  ☀

Faren caught the strange terror

by his mane and flinging him madly

against the hard stone floor

he drew the glinting rapier from it’s scabbard

and with a cry as clear and hearty as he could muster

threw himself upon the strange animal

and buried the stinging steel

between its breasts.

☼  ☼  ☼

Melior convulsed and tore again

with giant hairy paws

reaching vainly at Farens throat

his grey and scaly tail

lashed in a wild circle

but his assailant caught him

a severe blow to the temple

with a mailed fist.

☼  ☀  ☼

For the first time Melior

uttered a vocal sound,

a terrified cry as the

rapier swung mercilessly

removing a large patch

of his grey spongy flesh

and causing an ooze

which ran with an acrid odour

down his terrified face,

his movements now involuntary

strange, garbled, choking noises

and a wild strangled sobbing

as he writhed violently.

☼  ☼  ☼

The noises abated

the stench now sickening

a final staggered, spasmic reaction

then Melior gasped no more…

Who took the sun

and made a hole in the sky?

Who dressed and cloaked

in dark clouds stole forth

in the daylight and plundered the earth?

Whose murky thoughts invaded

more than a single generation?

Whose evil countenance smiled

and silenced loves sweet

moments for a long hour?

☀  ☼  ☀

Meliors thunder was fierce

his lightening a sharp tongue

that lashed and flailed

His anguish a bitter poultice

for the misery born in his heart

and many born old and dying.

Melior, grey and pale

starved of suns warmth

and again roasted black

by suns fiercest rays

outcast and jeolous

his night knew no end.

☀  ☀  ☀

Faren, stood a victor unvanquished

but saddened by the

misery of the battle

with the great grey Melior

now a cold heap lying

who had been a champion

a darkened prince

his latest form now relieved of terror

which seemed to relax

as a rose hue falling

from this evening light

washed over Farens haggard frame

almost bringing to him

the joy of early, regal youth.

☼  ☀  ☼

Faren knew oh so keenly

the hopeless pain Melior had born

but the gas that now reeked the air

causing even the ground

upon he lay to stain

was indeed the final admission

that Meliors very life had been evil

and as he walked from the scene

his weapon lying spent

beside its final purpose

a calm and special moment grew.

☀  ☼  ☀

Farens’ face now caught

the light of the evening sky

it threw a strange colour

an aura around him,

a sky green that drew gold

his eyes still lowered

out of some greater respect

for the many sad tales

this night preceded.

☼  ☀  ☼

Faren walked toward a turquoise haze

sheltered green by a grassy bank

and as he walked

the dark dreams fell from him like shadows.

He passed through them

his head lifting imperceptibly to the light

while it seemed that figures were appearing

not individuals admiring

more, triumphant armies adoring

as a gentle hollow horn blew

and gained momentum

stirring both sense and emotion

the gathered clans assembling

of every righteous battle won.

☀  ☀  ☀

Now Faren seemed to bear a scar

and every victors garland hung

to his neck most gracious.

He was now adorned royal

and to the horn could now be heard

an anthem quire singing

sweet pain it drew easy.

Farens’ temples bathed in golden light

now held firm and honoured

a gentleness distilled

his eyes softened grey set

lifted the many noble

champions to see.

☼  ☼  ☼

Gold and silver lined the crowds

a magical dawn, a living allegory

a famed tale, an open hand

as now hung the herald shields

polished bright and glorious

now stored the arms of battle

now formed these soft, sweet words

of memories past when pain had been real

and blood the currency of decision

when the terror of Melior a fabled dragon

may be writ or sung

and the error of the story enormous.

☀  ☼  ☀

Now sing the birds

not mourn the wound of creation

Now dance the maidens

not swear the curse of youth

Now laugh the ancients

the eternal children

Now skip the young men

not shame the burden of honour

the bracelet of respect.

Faren’s peoples joy

the uninhibited spectacle

this celebratory feast

this betrothal ceremony

it has begun and never, never would it end.

☼  ☀  ☼

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writtenbyedenbray30.06.90–revisions10.04.11

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dragons head

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#Authors Note ~ BALADINS DREAM : This was actually the 1st published part of a long, unending Collection of Prose – prepared under the theme – Baladin’s Dream – Baladin – a sage, a prophet, a mystic, a mythical and spiritual visitor to various places on our planet and possibly on others also, who, in his latter years recounts from his vast memories of life & experience – both tragedy and joy – either true or imagined, in a rambling tome of memoirs, recollections, supposed wisdom and biographical insights ~ A Dream ~ THE ‘DREAM OF BALADIN’ – The Many Parts of this DREAM take on various poses, are noted at differing times, deal with different facets of human experience and fantasy that can occur within various cultural settings that may suggest Baladin has kind of – always been with us observing life and death from his own wisdom and unique perspective – Join the Dream and you will no doubt be enriched, enthused, enlightened, even en-wisened!?! – edenbray 14.11..19

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

https://edenbray.wordpress.com/2011/04/10/faren-and-the-end-of-melior/

Posted in Baladin's Dream, edenbray POMES, edenbray RETROSPECTIVE, PROG-PROSE | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

EDENBRAY ~ RETROSPECTIVE – 7

HERDY PRAESCHEN

Originally posted on March 22, 2011 ~ a fable written by edenbray pre – 2010
…

Herdy Praeschen had the widest shoulders I had seen on a woman. Her forehead was also wide and deep like a panel on an automobile, a truck. Her deep, dark and rounded eyes were set above high cheekbones stained with a caramel coloured paint. She had a lean, angular nose which descended and broadened to full, flattened nostrils. The wide, generous lips of true feminine health completed the tragic beauty of her face adorned with two white circles, perfectly painted roundels, one on each cheek.

She wore her two breasts like loaded panniers and seemed to invite you to view them by her proud, unashamed posture. Everything about Herdy was to be seen. Her dark sienna skin, her long, lean, slightly bowed legs, muscular slender arms, tapering fingers. The chocolate-brown bush of her crotch, standing out like the hair on her head which completed a ring around her head.

‘What is your name?’ I asked, to answer her challenging pose.

After she had replied, she asked my name also.

‘David Store’ I replied.

‘The trouble is,’ I said ‘the sight of a naked woman always excites me.’

Herdy Praeschen drew your soul like a priest at a confessional.

‘Of course,’ she replied, ‘and do you suppose it is different for a woman, if she were to see a desirable man?’

I searched her body to see if she wore any kind of jewellery. Any ring or necklace, a hair slide but there was nothing. She was indeed completely naked.

‘Well no’ I replied at last.

‘It is only the arrogance of a man who would suppose a naked woman is offering herself to him. A woman would not assume a naked man would want to take her. She would ask herself, ‘Does this man desire me?’ or maybe ‘How can I make this man desire me?”

‘Well I’m not sure if that is right’, I found myself responding. ‘Do not women accept men they do not desire?’

‘Never!’

Herdy now spoke with a certain authority and it seemed the experience of women down through the ages. She spoke with the fewest well-chosen words. She continued.

‘Unless, of course she has been violated in some way and lost her joy of life, then she might. Or maybe to get something else that she wants but then she would be a prostitute. Whoever heard of a woman raping a man?’

‘No, I haven’t heard of it but I am sure it must have happened,’ I stuttered.

‘You are young and very naive Monsieur.

Think about it. How could a woman rape a man?’

Herdys’ smile as she cocked her head to one side begged the question.

‘You see? The woman must always make the man desire her, capiche? Do you understand? A woman may not dominate a man in that way. Only by seduction. You see this is why women are more subtle than men.

You turn the switch on. You turn the switch off.

A woman must use all her charms to make a man love her.’

‘I cannot quite see it that way,’ I answered her with due consideration.

‘That would suggest a man never uses charm, never uses subtilty, just takes what he wants.’

‘Yes, a sort of subtilty I suppose but a man need only do half the job, if that. A woman must convince the man, seduce the man, arouse the man.

Unless she has lost her joy of life or she is drunk.’

‘Surely it is the same with men Mademoiselle.’

‘Oh I can see you are just a stubborn male and so if I said to you now, we could make love, you would say?…’

‘I would say, sure, that would be fine.’

’But Monsieur, I do not desire you.’

‘Then why are you suggesting it to me Mademoiselle?’

‘I was being hypothetical Monsieur! You would make love to me because I excite you but now suppose I do not excite you. Would you make love to me then?’

‘Yes, I might still, just to relieve the boredom.’

‘If I were ugly, deformed, scarred, would I excite you? Would you make love to me then?’ Herdy spoke with fervour and passion. It made her breasts bounce delightfully. “Would you make love to me then Monsieur?’

‘No, probably not.’ I stuttered.

‘But Monsieur if I found a way to excite you, for you to love me even while I was ugly, deformed or scarred?’

‘Oh, I don’t know where this is leading Mademoiselle.’

‘Well most men are just bastardo’s anyway and would fuck a sheep if they needed to.’ With that Herdy turned away slightly, revealing her best profile.

‘Can we talk of something else Mademoiselle? Perhaps we could find you some clothes and then I would not be so excited by you.’

‘Maybe not, maybe so? Then, what else would you prefer to talk of?’

‘Well, nothing really…. I enjoy talking to you like this Mademoiselle.’

‘Is it stimulating to you? Does it arouse you Monsieur?

‘Yes Mademoiselle it is very stimulating, very arousing!’

‘Then you will need to go somewhere with your hand,’ Herdy motioned with a clasped hand.

‘You can do the job for yourself then, because I am not to be yours Monsieur because I do not desire you.’

‘Then you are the worst kind of woman Mademoiselle. You are just a tease and a frustration.’

Herdy stood proudly against the setting sun as though before a mirror. She exuded a self-possession and inner grace I found totally captivating. She began to smile a warm, happy smile that grew into a laugh. She was laughing now a curious laugh with a giggle in it that made her seem much younger; more now like a girl rather than a woman.

‘And so, your argument switches now to insults because you cannot have what you want. You cannot have your way with me. Because Monsieur you have no control, no subtlety, no charm. Your frustration is my fault. I am just a big tease and a frustration, nothing more. Although I have not encouraged you or seduced you or even spoken kindly to you, just polite Monsieur, always polite. I have just stood before you naked.’

‘Yes Mademoiselle, naked and that is why you are a tease.’

‘Monsieur, we began our formalities with your admission that your problem is that the sight of a naked woman always excites you.’

Herdy Praeschen leaned back and sighed. With that she turned slowly and began to walk away. Her lean muscular back and buttocks faintly glistening and her perfect outline caught as a dark silhouette against the evening sunshine.

She quickened her walking pace as though to break into a sprint as the silence of the moment was now broken by my urgent call, resounding off the purple hills to the east.

‘Oh don’t go Herdy! Don’t go, I want to talk. I’m sorry!

Herdy, don’t go, I need to talk to you!’

But she had broken into a bounding long step, as graceful as any Impala and I could only watch in awe as this champion of female grace and power zeroed slowly from my sight.

I have since considered my all to brief interview with the beautiful Herdy Praeschen.

I had now met at least one woman truly worthy of that description.

I have debated and considered my conversation with her on that strange and fortunate day. How might I have shown the subtlety she spoke of when she drew my words from me like a poultice might draw poison?

How might I have kept her in my gaze and charmed her as she suggested only women can?

How might I have turned her thoughts as mine were by her naked form? Should I have thrown off shirt and shorts and stood before her, as she to me, we then like two Cheetahs on heat? Should I have trusted my body and not my words and my flawed arguments?

No, Herdy was so right and I must and have, learned to live with that.

My only recompense was my fifteen/twenty minutes with her, the sight of her fabulous body. Her words, like sweet honey from a rock and in that short time with her, the fact that she taught me so much about women. About being a woman, loving like a woman and what it must be to feel like a woman.

The sun was beginning to sink as Herdy Praeschen walked into our camp and I alone was there to greet her. The sun was disappearing behind the few Baobab trees to the west as she bounded from my sight. I never saw or spoke to her again.\

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#Authors note ~ in this essay or short storyI have tried to reflect the different male/female philosophies of the age old man/woman problem and debate.. not to be controversial or erotic but just to tell a tale in a modern way.. an honest tale.. it is meant to leave the reader asking loads of questions about the story, location, characters and their own ideas on sexuality, morality, faithfulness and other issues.. where is the story set, who are the characters, what nationality, what are they doing?. it is a fable.. hopefully, a pastiche of unsettling uncertainties that might help us to think about being free of stereotypical responces and question our own raw feelings and attitude to the opposite sex.. to get back to the joy of who we really are.. in this way i hope it does reflect a certain positive spirituality that the reader might recognise. edenbray

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#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry

– part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!

https://edenbray.wordpress.com/2011/03/22/147/

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