BALADIN’S DREAM PART Ⅲ
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
.. 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