Concerning Andriose and Methuen 

*   *   *

A step as light as caused not lily leaf to tremor

A lithe and subtle frame, a skip, and measured step,

a gate so gracious, so soft, latent and nieve.

A mind of pastel colours, quiet and considered

and thoughts lush, rich and warm.

Who stepped on stones and pondered

or dipped a heal, a toe, in cool, fresh waters

or ran the smoothest sands to laugh?

Who walked with limbs tall and stretched,

enjoying her youth, a sway, a turn, a giggle?

Whose fun, gentle and intense,

a discovery of each moment, a personal joy?

Who splashed the waves that caught her midriff

and bathed her body golden?

The rush, the spray, the hidden warmth, as lovers lift and fall.

 *   *   *

And Methuen, who loved to watch the deer,

to climb the sun-baked granite and crouch,

hearing trained on each sound and movement.

Where he might gaze the valleys green and ochre.

His sight as long as the purple grey mountains on the eastern slopes

or wide as the grey-green hills beyond the river

where he believed there might yet be a smaller breed,

who chased with velvet antlers high and various.

He stretched now, a tall form caught raw against the early evening sky

where taught and toned, his limbs dusted by the sands of the far plains

that the winds brought in a golden cloud each morning.

the purple sky blushed peach caught his outline,

a dark burnt sienna, angled, firm and oiled by the days heat.

Methuen walked this path on mornings fair

or even when the warm winds blew a tumult gale.

That lifted plant and scrub and caused the desert hares to scuttle.

He loved to stand as now, the width of vision so intense

he could at times have cried, so moved with joy.

The splendid epic set was so rare even to his unknowing gaze

This was his land he knew and cared for

and though in clear light he could see so far

that shapes sembled and moved to draw his attention

his wander-lust was satisfied in thought

and the sad pangs that caught him when considering

even several nights beyond the care of his sweetest Andriose

whose love lit stars in the night sky

and helped his wakened thoughts to settle.

Would the morning catch them

bonded gold by the bright gamboge day-star?

Or would the night draw back the veil of passions seed bed

and show the naked lovers enlaced, plaited?

*   *   * 

Methuen loved Andriose this she knew full well

and when she heard the evening birds call

She waited for his safe return.

He never far behind, brought her mountain flowers

She wore them in her hair.

                       written byedenbray 07.91completed 25.11.1992edited 14.10.2011

and Andeleuse and Methuen ?

( Concerning Danuck the younger )


the other woman,

there always has to be

another woman

.. and Andeleuse so cold had watched the mating couple

as the sun set beyond Adderropp and vowed then did she

that he would be her golden lover as to herself she made

this certain promise whilst Methuen whose eyes so full of stars

 was thrilled by her attentions and her acquaintance had never

yielded or in his heart wandered but as a lazy lion lays down

with love, lioness or a black viper that feels the need of heat

he squandered fair Andriose whose heart he fully broke

and for this love of lust the maidens heart he cur’d so hard

herself she washed in dust, cut hair to stalks and cried herself

in and out of sleep and pain atop the gorgeous mountain

the mountain so generous, so full, as she before the news of

Methuens folly which spread through the association of the couples

families, friends, hierarchy, enemies as people often do 

Methuen himself, donkey brained and distraught struck out

like a tortured character from a bards sonnet so full of woe

and lamenting he forgot to dress and ran naked through the town

the parts spent in his recent treachery for all to see so jangled

like jailors keys from his waist bronzed and eerie in evening light

The naked lover found his naked gillot lying in grit and rough grass

her knees, breasts bloodied, her face black with bruising and grief,

he lifted Andriose the crushed, wild flower and carried her to water

where by a mountain pool he plied her with love, necessary tenderness

the intimacy that only personal lovers might show, even a smile crept

across her face for she felt no hatred only hurt and senseless failure

Three weeks on and in that night as cold as winter, dark as writing ink

Andeleuse let blood from a gaping wound in her lean, long neck

severed by a skinning knife while she slept

and borrowed from Andriose’s father, the hunter

a subsequent hatred formed from vengeance that pursues truth

where all judgements are settled by a dark reason that in turn

settles the folly that is neither accident, nor providence

nor certainly nature’s will.

Andeleuse’s father, Danack the elder, added his own part to this sorry tale

in early recognition of his daughters larceny, he saw only sadness

must follow for these three heart-crossed lovers, foul or fair

and on the night of the greater felony he followed at a distance

to see how things might turn out for the apple of his eye

Danack took the body and remains, his righteous indignation,

his loins fruit, his incurable pain and hid and buried her where no one

not even animal or wolf or angels wand would ever find or mutilate

he took this end to his grave for the end of love and for a two

who were not even his own nor ever would be

stranger still that when Andriose and Methuen birthed a younger

they named him Danuck, he grew a mighty leader



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 essays, edenbray pomes. Bookmark the permalink.


  1. jessicaphiri says:

    You have a wonderful ability to twist nature, humanity and the soul into one beautiful bouquet. You are a keen observer and translator of light, movement, sound and visual feelings. Feels like a warm sweater on a cool fall day.

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