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, 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.


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?


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. 

written byedenbray during the month of June – 1990 – edited 24.1.2012


Subterranean Blues has become a bit of a cliché but you gotta love it and the viddie – remember the time it was done this was fresh and new … also Chimes of Freedom and in this Dylan seems almost embarrassed he’s had these deep thoughts and tries to jolly the intro and the song … ‘the one true poet of the 20th Century’ so said Ginsberg well who knows but hey Dylan has always been and will always be so very cool … Whats that gotta do with these two pomes? … Leave you to join the dots . —————————— .



About edenbray

I've always enjoyed writing and thats all I want to do... .. . I’m not sure why I stopped writing, was it 9/11? .. . Eden Bray is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions. The effluence of my short life .. . I'm a Writer and Artist - since 1966, now a Blogger ~ I write lots of poems, written essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment .. . please join the shebang but more importantly please leave me a marker with a comment for my ego and my encouragement :- thanks, edenbray
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2 Responses to SEA, SAND and CEMENT

  1. edenbray says:

    original authors note – written 20.0.90
    … I know this tale seems sad and grim … I know there is little cheer … though it is born of sad hope … it is a plaintiff cry … many feel such and lament so sadly … the greyness of our world hurts us so … though we imagine that once it was not such … that flowered paths and gentle manners … hid themselves in countryside fair … I know perhaps it wasn’t … I know our blind memories … history tells some tales long and true … some pained and tortured … i know that in all these marred moments … I know that God is true !!!

  2. Jessica says:

    So many words turn about Inside me. Your ability to meditate and see the earth within the human and the human within the earth is profound. So many phrases I want to pick out and keep on the door plate of my mind.

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