THE LYRISIST

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The darkest clouds – Andronicus De Marvellos

Who stepped lightly through the night

Her face caught within by so brilliant a light

Surrounded by the midnight, prussian sky

And the wail of a coloured banshee closer

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Andronicus De Marvellos – seventh daughter

of seven, pure as un-malted barley, wore no braids

She shimmied and swooned in another life

In another dress worn with petticoats and linen

Rhymed reasons and fiction, mending and cure

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In the book where it was written – Andronicus et Articus

met betrothed manners and distant relative particularis

As though all words, or songs or feelings were born not imagined

Like moonshine just occurred, n’er created by depression driven

Or those houses of nighttime painted ‘out of love’ received or given

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She walks the boards this lady fair whose gentle hands touch only joy

Andronicus De Marvellos not drawn by brawn or boyish bristle-gristle 

She feels for hope, she longs for peace – the only peaks or poise she ‘knaws

Though passion is a woman’s place et Andronicus she hides her painted claws

And through her perfumed pores sweats n’er the ugliness of mans cruel wars

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Andronicus De Marvellos with space and time and colour for the infants care

Not drawn to giving sight of flesh or honest thought she plays ‘the maidens prayer’

On pianoforte, here in Russia, Belarus, Tibet, Rome, Alexandria or Cheyenne 

The sensibilities, the fashion, discretion, the carriage that charges fast the race 

Engraved, written, rhymed – the phrases wound by pretty sound and rounded form

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writtenbyedenbray08.12.2019 

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