THE LiVER OF DREAMS .. .

the LiVER of DREAMS .. .

what we digest becomes us
  what we ingest, our being
our monitor, our feeling
  crystallisation of our reason

the bedrock of our conflicts
  summation of control
these invaders of our coalition
  despots, subversives

quangos rise within
  our patrilineal genealogy
succumb to detrimental order
  sophistical and unblinded

conscripts of the raison d’être
  nothing innocent, nor new
nor dying, we live to let
  thus subjugate our lesions

patronise and quantify
  vilify, satirise, desensitise
cannibalise our carnal refuge
  our origin of species

upside galaxies of creation
  universals of all beings
these elements contrive
  inside each social order

the lives of humankind
  complexities benign
plus those radicalised by
  illness and aloneness of war

..

edenbraytoday14.11.2023

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DOGDYKE .. .

.. .

dogdyke .. .

..

Over swollen fields at eventide
bare, misted clouds roll defiant
where morning dawn obscures
a murder of crows less affluent

the shotgun’s fervent warning
more than bucks should heed
purple in the air turned heather
baited badgers do they bleed

mounds blackened, crumbled sod
beer-can discarded, train the clod
out where cleanliness is godliness
those who know this shall see god

in morning’s pall sweet kestrels rise
lemon sun splashed o’ the half light
blurs both the retinas in your eyes
moments broken open on the lee

©edenbraytoday28.10.2023

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BEAT MARCH ~ DEATH ROLL .. .

..

beat march – death roll .. .

..

deep where mariah taxis tumbled
blots and scribbles
inkwell funnels
when we were primary school kids
in the yard
and the wind blew cold
forming icey puddles

steam trains, wolf whistles
where we grew up
rites of passage, oaths
nylon, foldaway macs
then we grew whiskers
girls grew moulded chests
physical education in vests

agitation wishes
adolescent issues
borstal boys they genuflect
to stay within our school
girls wore blackened stockings
we met in town
upon safe ground
our long march to Culloden

strap your dirk
children smirk betide the kirk
a generation of minds
dropped out to drop in
followed on a mission
to live a life that’s true
growing pains in the semester

afraid of what we had become
leanings that we took
the lefts and rights
issues of the time
we read between the lines
of revolution books
learned to eat the gristle

o’ this life we lead
where saints and sinners bleed
from one universal puddle
protest badges worn as medals
when summer of love departed
was no one left to join the struggle

flashbacks and mild paranoia
legacy of the chillum, the bong
Leary’s fond exegesis
we learned to sing along
till Terry Gillum
the pythoned boys
vigilantes from the spires

round and round
the punting town
minds of one sacred generation
who had learned relief
at the hands of the satirical
exhumed our rights
to earn a crust for living

yesterdays fold into todays
the dough of life still rising
were left to prove within
the technological revolution
as worlds turn
so hubris often dies
and smothers all regrets

opportunities metal
maligned was redefined
those absolutes of original intention
a voice was lost
at enormous cost
when death occurred
there was no life left at all

.

.

©edenbraytoday23.10.2023

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PERAMBULATOR BLUES .. .

perambulator blues .. .

sky-washed lies, faint dewy contrails
fall silently on mute-deaf ears

war dogs cascade earthward
missiled, Icarus heavens shine brightly

betide beams of energy and light
wheels within political wheels

all this descends upon one common
perambulator happy, all black, chrome and shiny

suspension straps, bemingling voices
under rainbow sky affectionately smiling

bedspread pillows, downy blankets
round, shapeless faces, contort to grin

emit noises contraband, words that confound
toes that wriggle, point and stretch

scared to leave the home of hinterland
a wonderland and fight their corner

they are not grown nor yet see eye to eye
have not learned to hold heads up high

hurricanes of orange-peel exchange
hurtle past point of order window

consensus applied, humanity denied
leers inside once-loved perambulator

feeds children to Leviathan – the alligator
perfervid folk stretch urbane parameters

simulate true disaster within the mall
time runs through their bloodied fingers

where have all the protest singers gone
gone to back-catalogues every one

.

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OCTOBER ONE .. .

october one

by the sight of my Coventry wonder
I climbed aboard my Coventry thunder
and wheels to wheel I gather
fair momentum along these pothole roads
safe from those I wear a lemon vest
a gamboge star to scare dark spirits away
on west fen lane its mild terrain
alongside the drains of cyanobacteria

i saw a brown rat
it ran across my path
its tail longer than its body
the stumbling skies arranged diametrically
out here where there is nothing living
except maize-corn fields
they grow as fuel not fodder
my Coventry Eagle
its magnum wheels keep spinning

i saw one frightened heron later
surprised it was from fishing frogs
in the algae cyanobactra’
which blue-green bloom
is not a proper home
or anywhere to swim in
it flew – its arms, pinions dripping
eclectic as my Eagle’s motion

i saw a buzzard tumbling
too awkward in its circle
its cries plaintiff as my soul
does it search for a companion
or was it scorched
of where we might be travelling
into nettled paths, undergrowth
briar trees, darkened

I saw one other heron
its bejewelled, jagged beak
onynxed eye
flying daggers in the clouded sky
the boom of man’s aeronautic delusion
look what we have made
a killing machine
– that does not understand mercy

I saw several swans a’ swimming
in this sludge
they had raised 5 babies
plumage fluffed and grey
and white, blue and greenish
they seemed to stand up in it
they were not dead yet
my dogs should not swim in it
neither I should say should we

©edenbraytoday29.09.2023

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INCOGNITO BEACH BALL .. .

incognito beach ball .. .

incognito beach ball .. .

incognito beach ball .. .

 
I am finally dead
and rolling around off shoulder
of both defiant and living
who cried freedom but have similarly
given up the glory of recognition
surrendered to nightmare folly
or drifted to the edge
of the sun-dried earth

the lillo is now floating lonely
calmly out at sea
where old men and fishermen dwell
submitted finally
to the irony of parody and misfortune
like bad storytellers
comedians, b n’b trollops
they have nothing more to sell
but their organics and their orgasms
their vital signs
their heartbeats
their memories of youth
their dead, derogatory lives

their friends or relatives
sold out to the nazis
who we mostly agreed to hate
who turned out lived next door
who sold out to Abram’s whore
or any pint of jin-sin
or catalogue of errors
any mausaleum of regrets
1001 of lost bets
hey the ignition
the calamity of solution
when finally he died
kinda’ beautiful…


©edenbray05.09.2023
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DEEP SPACE .. .

deep space .. .

I see the look in a sputnik’s crater eyes
as we are hurtling through space
the trinket moon offers only splendour
by which our soul’s journey is defined

written in the book I have been writing
hoping strenuously it will mean a lot
to someone – it is more a journal than a book
it has no beginning, no middle or a finish

©edenbraytoday23.08.2023

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BEAT

beat .. .

beat, plageurism while writing a sonnet

Sometimes I think I came too late to writing
I should have come first of all
to listen is to spell
to see to speak
to tell all, a rat-fink
when the amber sun sinks in the pan
and the warm good smell of bacon cooking
phenols of clear scotch whiskey
sparkle up your nose
the aurora of a pretty lady
whose smile lifts your Dantė thoughts
of judgement, death and hell
pro-creation is the reason
a message in a bottle
a signature in sand
and all those damn fine cliches
I learned as a kid
with grandparents
a Kerouac without a road
they grew cabbage and leek
and profound mundanity
no tin roof except the jangling stars
Orion, Jupiter and the bats flying
I felt the rain on my face, cold wind in my eyes

I came too late to writing
Whitman had already been and Keates and Kelly
and every name becomes a name-drop
a dead phoenix rotting
a minotaur without a head
crumpled up da Vinci drawings
lost under the bed
I once bought a Djembe
from an African in Italy
at a market in a northern town
he talked while he ate
spat bread crumbs in my face
his sweated brow was full of animus
richness of history, character
I considered him entirely great
we haggled
I paid him 20 euros for his trouble
I bought my African drum home
should I leave it by your gate?

©edenbraytoday11.09.2023

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da VINCI’S FINGER .. .

da Vinci’s finger .. .

alcohol and the elite – a heady mix!

I pick up another bottle
summoned up the elitist
the amateur has gone
still hiding in her tree
is this your chosen brand
can I add mine to the list

I studied nothing more at school
than girls and their knickers
ink blots on the desk
my imagination running wild
blind until I could not see
teacher’s finger pointing at me

it pointed at the ceiling
as in Leonardo’s cartoon
teacher was no madonna
she had bony, arthritic fingers
not really funny except that
teenage boys can be obscene

whoever chooses our lovers
chose not our teachers
who then chose neither you nor me
taught what they thought they knew
nothing about life, living or
the best whisky on the shelf

©edenbraytoday28.08.2023

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BiRTHDAY SONNET DRAWN in PENCIL with NOVELTY ERASER .. .

birthday sonnet drawn in pencil with novelty eraser .. …

..

and if I were a rogue elephant
at the zoo where I grew up
presented in the land
where I was born
in the zone of rhinoceros or armadillo
my scaly skin protect me
from that awful sin of adolescence
summer visits upon this gushing train
spewing anonimity with children crayons
these impartial thoughts collide
there can be no immunity
from noise in London town

Camden Town where group leaders
assemble bustling, budding drumsters
we do not ask what type
of which political agenda
their art on street food escalators
broken down where people congregate
at canals, locks, bridges
once converted rivers
beside the opportunity to submit
the fond oppression of knowledge
appropriate to that which no one understands

the march of antelope
within the zoo I was raised
left now to only make conjugal visits
on summer trips by electric train on google-foot
to buy back memories
wrapped in fridge magnets with cellophane
teeming citadels of learning
framed engle culture
the Rosettis come into view
historic subtleties of political reference
they were just people
who stored their lives in writing
painted metaphor with oil
behind glass in pencil, sanguine
where there is now little meaning

there is panic on the streets of London
of Boston, of Birmingham
we have lost our ability to draw or reason
in old St Pancras churchyard
people meet to talk
I hear people singing under shade of tree
a mongrel dog is passing
as we orbit the sun

edenbraytoday24.08.2023

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(italics: reference borrowed from a song written by the Smiths)

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