Amid the misery of human exchange stands the white hope of reason

The heroes of history’s collusion not only those who endure but those who care

I paint letters 3 foot high on the wall where terror hides for the gentle mind

of certain clean hands, compassion, tear-stained, steel-capped and blooded-granite

Diamond flies, the space fleet of a babbling brook or a red stained, trickling stream

which flows from the heart of human endurance and desire – almost sensual

Such open-hearted passion that buries your own dead tho’ not time enough to lament

Curse the chatter of bare-faced monkeys and the smiling grey-green lizard for their deceit

but curse the more the mighty men who contribute their marvellous reason

We who stand on your grave to make sure you never r0se nor ever metamorphose,

nor yet your skeleton and scattered disciples perpetuate your particular reincarnation,

Legions of shame-filled neutrons whose cancerous cells reek with morbid attenuation

where women’s grace should turn an altered gaze, the milk-paps talk of their creation

not squandor or lust with incest, disgrace and callous loathing, what they alone can hunt

It was at this point in the narrative I even thought I heard angel voices and wondered

should we throw ourselves on the ground Michael or simply appreciate this mind racing

The track before me concealed I saw not, a chicane where two religions meet and a voice

speaking behind me gladly saying there are but two ways you may travel, one is long

and rugged the other mountainous with much to overcome and avocado turtles who sleep

They have been here since almost the world begat them and we who fret and libate

would do a wholesome better to honour those than many a human deity that charm

with dishonest priests and costumes dressed in black, orange, blood and white

Palodium the Pantomime horse approaches, two honest scarecrows dancing in the wind

I caught the flare of your up-turned dress, I saw your legs and your wonderful smile

We have more to us than this basket of ripe plums, strawberries, blueberries

Moments alone, when we may undress and rebuild our lives as people

We have seen an orange sun, heard a donkey bray and sat watching and listening

a circle of Vaux’s swifts cavorting, planing over that same grass where war bodies lay 



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
This entry was posted in edenbray pomes. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.