Beauty Has a Thousand Faces: Selected Poems

By Grace Andreacchi

Tender, fierce and beautifully crafted, this is a rich selection of poems chosen from the past four decades. Tragical, comical, thoughtful, ironic, they touch on themes such as love both temporal and spiritual, beauty and terror, sorrow and delight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9781447810261

Grace Andreacchi

Grace Andreacchi was born and raised in New York City but has lived on the far side of the great ocean for many years—sometimes in Paris, sometimes Berlin, and nowadays in London. Works include the novels Scarabocchio and Poetry and Fear (Andromache Books), Give my Heart Ease, which received the New American Writing Award, and Music for Glass Orchestra. Stories and poetry appear in both online and print journals. Her work can be viewed at graceandreacchi.com. 

Book preview

DAYS OF GRACE

The days of grace are coming

The days of sorrow cannot last

Already on the horizon

great galleons, treasure-laden

are driving golden clouds before the mast

Already the sky is a new colour

never once seen by man

The wind from the west blows sweeter

Ruffles your hair with a loving hand

The birds have fallen silent

listening for what is about to be

At night the stars are falling

like handfuls of quiet confetti into the sea

Now is the time to watch

Take a deep breath

Take my hand

The days of sorrow are nearly ended

The days of grace are at hand

THE THREE WITCHES

I saw three witches under a tree

Millicent, Mellicent, Rose-marie,

I saw three witches under a tree

They were as wicked as wicked can be

Sing Millicent Mellicent Mary.

The first one had a silver spoon

Millicent, Mellicent, Rose-marie

The first one had a silver spoon

to sup the stars and the waning moon

Sing Millicent Mellicent Mary.

The next one had a silver ring

Millicent, Mellicent, Rose-marie

The next one had a silver ring

It turned on her finger and started to sing:

Millicent Mellicent Mary.

The third one had a silver eye

Millicent, Mellicent, Rose-marie

the third one had a silver eye

that froze my blood before I could cry

Millicent Mellicent Mary.

MESSSALINA’S MONKEY

I sleep in her bed

red silken cords

bind my hands and feet

If I scream she tightens them

She feeds me sugared almonds

beetles dipped in honey

I drink from her cup

and entertain the gentlemen at dinner

most of my tricks are pornographic

my mistress never laughs

TO A NIGHTINGALE

A bell in winter sounding over snow,

A narrow bark upon a fretted sea

That leaps, turns, rises to the glow;

A rose blue mantle spreading over me.

A piece of glass that glitters in the throat,

A knot of blood, a little crimson thread

Silken taut from earth to the remote

Stars that circle round thy starry head.

A single petal fallen in the sun

Of golden glory afternoons of love;

A web of smoke by faery-spiders spun

To catch poor hapless flies in toils of love.

Shut away alone in my dark night

A ray of light.

SONNET TO ORPHEUS

Raindrops halt in mid-air.  Snow

cannot fall nor wave break,

All slow

and silent for his sake.

The lion leaves his prey

half-eaten.  The babe at the breast

leaves off suck and cry.

The wind cannot sigh.

Birds on the wing, small mice,

Leaves and lizards lie.

The stars in their fiery dance

stand still in the sky.

While under earth the Shadows in a ring

draw nigh to hear Him sing.

IT’S A DUCK’S LIFE

Say what you will,

It’s certainly a duck’s life

Now that’s a life!

Paddle around all day

Nothing to do but play

in the glass green ripples

Nibble at reeds and little fishes

Chase fat crumbs of bread

Speak your mind a-loud!

Stand on your head

and wiggle your tail at your wife.

No wonder everyone wishes

for a duck’s life.

(OR WOULD YOU RATHER BE A) SWAN

Beautiful serene mysterious

Dressed in white, mute, imperious

I never paddle but appear to drift.

I have a gift for sculptural poses

The clatter of my open wing

will steal your breath.

Bold-eyed, I sing

at the approach of death.

EMILY

Tender to flowers, but not to cats, Aunt Emily drowns four ‘superfluous’ kittens in a barrel of pickle brine in the Homestead cellar. – Lyndall Gordon, Lives Like Loaded Guns, Emily Dickinson and Her Family's Feuds

I.

Four soft superfluous pussycats

Came to play with me

In the cellar here alone

With just Eternity.