FLASHLIGHTS OVER AMERICA .. .

Flashlights Over America!

Horizontal, these electric-karma streaks flashing

the jagged teeth of a leviathan smiling

across the nighttime line running low

above the clouded blue-black ink of deepest sea
where fish swarm blind and creatures lived as
street bums with bottles of darkened spirits
methylated and rolled up in cardboard, newsprint
they were there all the time on the sea bed

they still are in doorways to plush accommodations
but not to welcome warmly anyone to America

Mammy, pappy, imagined the lifelong day
to live in a hovel in westerland on a spot o’land
they climbed aboard a schooner bound for Nova Scotia
the yellow sun fell on their valley, created an aura
civilisation moves a pace, mid the gleans and beinns
oblivious to the march of time and arctic peoples
across the seas or in grand towns, histories form medieval
not London nor Constantinople but where the buffalo roam
American Indians, tribes, bands, first nation colonials
they never planned to invite visitors from overseas

Columbus found convolvulus wrapped around it’s spine
a nation dressed in morning glory at its premiere
gypsy peoples beyond the origins of time knew horror
before the massacre at high-school Columbine
primitive arrows quivered, the north plateau it shivered
in windy wastes, moccasined feet, keyholes in the snow
no wild west show or signs given for the way they should go
Japethites, their journey through time, a peaceful people
Indigenous, native, holy, disrespected by their invaders
characterised by Hickok showmen with tales phoney

Gunshots in Chi-ca-goo, her baby in a papoose
stay my child before the bluecoats come to plunder
is it any wonder I lay my head down on this land
separate thought in consideration, thoughts be damned
we carry in our holster recollections of our fathers lands

the tyranny of the masses bad as conscience sags
at the corral of any nation be it India, Australasia or Siam
it is a conundrum how any nation may be formed
except we question how the death of small children
could be grounds accepted for ought but revolution

How fast they grew, children of our loins, this pioneer land
its laws, customs, towns and states, America the brave
raped the sea of whales, fought within itself, retired its braves
who tried to make amends so meekly for the use of slaves
yet when was their freedom considered, torn from other lands
the mighty dream rolled on, America the free it binds
black man’s wrists with practises, beatings, murders so unkind
yes cities grew, the dream it never died while the worst bits
America you intended to hide, come clean thou huge imposter
you were leviathan smiling at the gates with blood in your eye

America, your searchlights blazing (might) winkle out the lies
midst global darkness, culminating in treatise you despise
your articles of freedom state reasons you build such beacons
yet your suburban cops are still a dangerous sight to see
within your new, fragile, national identity, incapable of apology
Maddison’s constitution is creaking at the knees yet
intellects for democracy still agree there is no other banner
whether star-spangled or plastered with new-left lather
you would rather take a cut-throat to the neck in secret than
join a private war, your efforts to police the world lying on the floor

Flashlights shine above New York, sirens sound in Connecticut
flood waters rise in New Orleans, a teeming monster has evolved
who stepped from out the bleach-ed sea to tame the blistered land
learned to build a concrete utopia in a desert made with sand
walk around on Michigan glass where bottles are mostly made
swim in Californ-i-a with silver fish who ride technologies wave
Pittsburgh’s steel is hard as hell, who rang the Philadelphia bell
on a visit to sweet Virginia, we call on Washington for justice
consecrate the constitution, the absolution of terror from your past
prove you are repentant of misdeeds that held the world aghast

When John the Baptist met Salomi no one called him for his role
in adolescent atrophy, he recognised his time to step aside
ever the black sun falls smoothly from out of western skies
my alma-mater sings so holy the purple clouds of morning
we hear a shepherds blush-red warning stood by this lightening storm

kiss the clouds of our pollution as they fold us in their arms

America you might still fulfil your mighty dreams of youth

anoint the crumbling heads of Rushmore’s presidents

resurrect

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BEATNIK SALAD DRESSING .. .

beatnik salad dressing .. .

..

upon the copulation
this vast landscape
of one generation with another
an age of explosions around the world
victims victims
cold and fragile
a violence bedraggled
half-baked extravagance
rise of the extremists curtailed
death to philosophy, limbs lifeless
substance-created Art
Michelangelo was pure
words words
have all been said
unfinished sentences
honey honey
upon the sweetness
of clean bees clustering
in the valley
underneath the mountains
where the sun falls
we dropped the key
could not find it
in the brush

words words
I clear my head and dance
in the undergrowth
with siskin man
and the antelope – the kudu
extinct species
their heads appear on walls
lament your capitalist solutions
condemn your intrusion
insensitivity to life
victims victims
in corners of your world
not so huge that you cannot
recognise your mother
politics and religion
conscience abated
lust for blood sated – by war
conflict – we will kill each other
trying to be brave
the world we have made
is plastic plastic
spastic as the credit card
you hold within your hand
where is your promised land

©edenbraytoday11.06.2023

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THE CLOSER YOU ARE, THE BRIGHTER THE FLAMES IN MY HEART

The closer you are, the brighter the flames in my heart .. .

Combustable
your so combustable
it is a song I wrote
to tell you how I felt
but then I burned it up

Nothing is real that doesn’t die
I die a little more
every time I see you
every time you are close
but then I burned it up

Love is a chord in f minor
I wrote this song for you
I wrote it using 0xygen
and my red, red guitar
but then I burned it up

All this is not an illusion
art is an allusion-solution
I can’t get even close to you
without I’m burning up
but then I burned it up

The flames they travel higher
my love and my desire
I just start burning up
I wrote you a love song of how I feel
but then I burned it up
I burned it up…

TRIBUTE TO FRANK ZAPPA
©EDENBRAYaug2022
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[PUBLIC INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY] -trademark zer0™

[ public intellectual property ] – trademark zer0™

public intellectual property
of a similar name
like the film in which
Spielberg pinches scenes
of diners eating – monkey brains

we step into the mall
buy some labour-driven coffee
confronted by students
activists with smiles
selling charities for cash

waiting for some action
youths grow up
they change their pants
their stance on everything
the price of fish

Scorcese rants
fascists growing up everywhere
sharks beneath the sea
the rock of change
is hurtling at me

Sergeant Peppar marching
with the band to Innisfree
to where there
is found another bunch
of beauty products for sale

they don’t belong
to William Butler Yeats
meanwhile
copyright is caught
lying on its back

a hunny trap in lace
plagiarism and me
we’ve got a whole thing going
not a trace
of doubt in my mind

©edenbray03.06.2023

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IN THE MORNING .. .

IN THE MORNING .. .

PARALLEL LINES

REVISITING A HUMOUROUS POEM

I FOUND ~ THAT I WROTE IN 1986  ..

.

                              IN THE MORNING .. .

.

Oh the damp and the unemployment

    the sun is shining but I am not feeling well

and its in the air, all over the place

    cannot get away, cannot run away

..

Looking around I feel fine

    hearing the sounds, seeing the sights

my eyes are wet with lack of sleep

    my neck it moans and moans and I cough

..

Never thought I would be in this place

    thinking these thoughts, knowing how it feels

and I am happy, and I am sad

    I have learned to write it down and this helps

..

So much of it is down to conditioning

    our angst, our anguish, our fear

if I were an Ethiopian, no roof over my head

    no food to keep me alive,

    I might have something to say

..

But my suffering is temporal

    yet real to me and others in the west

not happy with enough

    we are searching for Nirvana

    indeed the hippy’s are here

..

Social upheaval, living with less

    the pressures of society,

    how should I dress?

I am uptight, I am running

    things don’t go the way I choose

..

Enough food, enough heat

    so much today is a mess

oh the damp and the unemployment

    think I’ll get up and get dressed!

..

©edenbraytoday8.6.1986

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NOISY OCEAN .. .

noisy ocean .. .

..

as January passes
  and February starts
scent of dopamine roses
  sounds beneath the sea

a madrigal of excellence
  the tanker passing by
windfarm helicopters
  hear no ocean clicks

insurmountable beasts
  beat-up planet creaks                         
it’s trawler men who whistle
  the enormity of catch
.

.

©edenbraytoday18.05.2023

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HOWL LOUDER .. .

howl louder .. .

hands that are tied hold faces
   traces of love shed from caverns
sinews wrenched, borrowed shoes
   pale and bruised, whitest lilly petals

teasel spikes, black hole shapes
   silhouetted on barbed wire brambles
the fruit of our isolation, tanned leather
   chains, electric wires, screams and pliers

murder not the innocents so barbarous
   the camber of war planes, missiles flung
sheep shorn, bloodied, Abram’s son passed over
   hells fire leaps higher than the jig of Judas

consolation of torture, a leopard’s attack
   none seen or known at any judgement’s altar
war counsels wash spit from their own eyes
  honorous guilt surmises, forever hides souls

by the coppered brook, the glint of red is not sun
   trenches, heaps and mounds upon our landscape
a history of pain a regret none will soon forget
   its passing shapes, sad bitterness of reparations

tousled moon it turns gaze to other seasons
   waves claim to satellite this bloodied alluvium
yellowed saturn, beiger jupiter tighten their belts
   planets talk, often gravely, of earth’s elegant confusion

©edenbraytoday24.09.2022

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AUGUST .. .

august .. .

Breezette by glass of august moon
just a few more puffs upon your
marijuana cigarette before I die
lend a moment basking in the sun
for those inclement of fun
counter-weight my loss of intelligence
with excitement, erotica, morbid suspense
the jack-rabbit flies in face of fear
jack-snipe disturbed shows no tears
his face placid – eyes stay closed
organ flaccid, far too many years
we waited by the corner
for the steel road grinder to appear
the clench of purpose
morbid gash of ancient steam-roller
time on our hands slips through
death angel’s cold rake
python skin discarded
red and black the suffocating snake
I assign the moon to watch over me
yet the ramparts are rusted gold
drawbridge in need of repair
children can see naught
in his ageless stare

©edenbray19.05.2023

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BECAUSE PICASSO COULD DRAW .. .

because Picasso could draw .. . 

..                                                      

the battle scene lay behind us 

the colour of his blue

the landscape of the Guernica

where our senses are distilled

I take to analysing

    the dismembering of torsos

with subtle forms of beauty    

    lithe lines of muscle, angled shades

don’t bury me on my own 

bury me in this mass grave 

with others who have died 

alongside the bony lonely

we will wrap our arms 

    around each other

appreciate our common stench

    grasp tightly with mortis clench 

  ..           

bury me in a grave with women

    beautiful women who have died

they are not forgotten

    I’ll lie forever with Monroe, Garbo

not on my own, not left alone 

    when I rise I will cling 

forever to their ashes

wearing naught but heaven’s sashes

intelligent women when they are dead

Marie Curie, Mary Astell

Maya Angelou, Daisy Bates

Malala Yousafzai, Ban Zhia and Myia

caring women i will lie with

    in the cleft of bosom 

with my mother, my only wife

    I’ll not leave them lonely or assaulted

by ravages of corruption 

    our bony fingers reaching out 

to caress and comfort the lasting night

    o’ poignant, happy sight

..

then bury me with men who wrote with pen

held within their rigid digits

Whitman, King David, Rachmaninov and Tolstoy

Aristotle, Gaius, Tennyson and Proust

where is the music for the dead poet

and their deft society 

who congregate to pontificate

sing boldly in the afterlife of their choosing

I’ll listen with a rotting cartilage of ears

spirit running down my clotted vertebrae 

which have lost their cushions and their ease

    boned legs, knobbled knees 

laid out within the sands of time

  next to bloody evil’s grime

lay me next to sweet young things

  those mourned by loving parents

who privileged to watch them live 

    but also die of ailment, of disease

of sadism and of torture

    Auschwitz – alway bring me to my knees

 in reverence, respect and disorder

    I will lie with my arms 

hung out above them as wings 

    to their mercy and their love

..

I’ll lie down with artists 

    who smote canvas for a living

watch the earth spring forth in paint

    of anger, blood, filbert hair and feeling

 flashes of the mind caught in mud

    chiselled out of crumpled rock

these are Picasso, Vermeer, Rodin 

    drawing their deaths in sepia tone

Macbeth, Hamlet, Annapurna

  Picasso, a scientific butcher

without thread or needle

    sewing skeletons together in different order

played with wooden cubes

    and the lives of marionettes

hanging in their chambers

    Braque, Metzinger, Gleizes, Juan Gris

juvenile of true Picasso anger

    waiting to be devoured

to be consumed and exhumed 

    by nations of our future 

learn well Pablo’s secrets 

    techniques of indivisible suture

a new jealousy, a new art and culture 

  Picasso born of different mind

intensity, colour and temper

  walked a cat-gut rope

who was a cellist fiddling

     an old man playing at a violin

‘a weeping woman’

     he could draw long before he saw

..

WRITTEN 05.06.2021 EDIT 21.04.2023

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edenbray edits .. .

A BRAND NEW PUBLICATION:

edits front cover

edenbray edits (1966 ~ 2023)

The journey of a poet recorded over nearly 60 years. If you remember Frank Zappa or lament what we may have lost but believe there is a brighter future you will love edenbray and what he has to say. Homespun philosophies moulded by history, a desire to face the challenge of humanities mistakes and a youthful willingness to adapt and change, while clinging steadfastly to the things that still mean something in this digital age. Self-taught, sometimes radical but always delightfully human – edenbray’s edits might make you laugh or cry but it may also renew your vision and your hope for tomorrow.

FOLLOW THE LINK BELOW TO ORDER THIS EXTRAORDINARY VOLUME OF WORK:

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