Stares.

Marvel at a Stare all

defying miseries. In allure

no graves are consecrated

through solitary wishes, such

vacant shallows await those

that do not seek

bright hours.

Fortune awaits beneath rays

mightier, all manifested conceited

senses to be overawed

in the taking flight

of a freedom's wing -

all destinations as the

dreamers determined dreamed. The

visions of the cores

of Mankind's passages, eloping

with magnificence passed time's

unkind occassionings. 

How light encumbers tyrants -

sees tyranny in descent

consumed by hollow sand -

slain as slain they

had.

Spill the blood on

soil - carve its ultimate

birth on future dawns -

what splendour then becomes

majestic as desired.

How tormenting fists wish

to deny all charms -

low rises from once

passioned peaks -

see laments of broken

fortitudes, dine upon still

solitudes,

steal leaf from branch

as bring chill to

breeze.

Yet come conquer seas

guided by the Sight -

the all defiant Stare.

© Cecil Field

Doubt: A Sonnet

Oh, which wish whispered within the willow
would choke the ties that bind me to torment
in Lethean streams, where my fruits are sent
into the torrent of a pathless flow?

In innocence - reveal what's below
do scriptures, in some minds set permanent,
yet are such words the factors prominent
to the cleansing of that we do not know?

Or do our eyes not shed tears in blindness
but in revelation, for all is not
painted by the oil of loneliness?

Is Joy's foundation so supremely got
from satisfaction of the simple word
while rustlings of the leaves remain unheard?


© Cecil Field

Ardor.

I


When into my vision
she drifts - my soul
shatters to a thousand
thousand splinters,
each breeding its own
desire to disenchant
me further still.

My fragile sense withers -

A Bathing Place - Albert Moore

weak as the aged
branch that has seen
a many hundred
autumns.
While my yearning
rises to inebriated
heights,

I struggle to conceal
pulsated clamors
from the journeying
breeze -

for only bawls;
my lyric in silence
stagnates
as the infernos of
my heart burn
visibly,
and my thoughts fall
as rain upon the
marshes beside the
Styx -
denied their
congregation.

My stare in blindness
- choked by the
vines of desire and
torn by the thorns
of truth - reveals the
weakness of my passion
as I drown in the
languor of the
pools of her
eyes.



II


How I long for
somnolence beneath
solitude and shadow
of an all enchanted
willow, the blanket
that smothers
all my strains,

neglects all futures
and eternities for
tranquil ignorance -

Water Willow - Dante Gabriel Rossetti

feeding the immediate
flame.
To bathe blankly
beneath its bosom,

welcome in my dreams
to flirt upon my
fancy - to climb with
them to places
mankind has seldom
seen  in lifetimes or
in Paradise.

Among the clouds where
torture's slain let my
piteous form be greeted
by a hope of
all gentility -
to gaze upon passed
sorrow's mourning archways
with nothing but
disdain.


© Cecil Field   

Where Beauty Dwells.

A cliff edge,
met by the
hungry tide
all dusks and
dawns,

in drear and halation,

in pique and affinity.

In harmonious existence,
structural chaste observes

A Classical Beauty - John William Godward

the waves and currents
of Poseidon's reign
ignorant of tyranny.

Pillars of pure lillies
line marble halls of
maidenhood,

mists of myrrh clothe the
air.

The beguiling of the
senses to opiated
indifference,

to seek the
sacred font, beheld
in vision though
seemingly divine
- although
in earthly body.

Beside kneel the
desired - guarded by
those they worship
throughout their hours
of continuance,

of virtue -

untouched bloom
that Cupid denies our
passion.



© Cecil Field  

The Valley

The chasm lows
the land that
splits hill
to hill,

shadows spread
across the
streams
in tranquil sleep -

shadows that deny the Sun
to stare within.

Though the blanket
of shadows heeds no
misfortune,
the shade welcomes
comfort
with a gesture of
its will -

Le Chant d'Amour - Sir Edward Burne-Jones

soothing the symphonies
of time
and
nurturing the soil
Platonic
for the
flora's blossoming.

Bewitched by a
radiance of
histories that
ignites
immortal bliss;

exceeding moonlight's
serene enchantress.

Nightingale sings -
echoes
in the trees
and kissing
the streams -
raising the
waterlily
from slumber.

As the waterlily would
raise the lost soul
from dislocation,

virile
amour conquers in
its mysteries,

while the savage
of portentous
lust meets
its last breath.

© Cecil Field

The Dreamer.

The divine holds no
equal stare -
it extols the
dreamer that
wishes to embalm
their spirit
in enraptured
flame.

Beside fountains

The Bath of Psyche - Frederic Lord Leighton

empyrean,
dreamers please
deities with hymns
that fable fantasy -
though to deny
virtue would fetch
omens.

Imagination in
cadence, see the
dreamer climb to
Olympian heights
and remain for
eternities
once Expiration's
curtain has
been drawn.

For the dreamer to
remain may bring
descent; a fate
salvaged in unfavourable
mines toiled by
the pathless,

and see the dreamer's
dreams echo despair
with no beauties
as they expire.

Within the dreams -
the wings of an immortal
verse - celestial as the
deities themselves -
deserved of the
fountains.

Messengers to the pathless
that travail, to supplant
their drudgeries with
embers of hope.

Throughout lonely lusts and
broken devotions,
fuelled by reminiscences
and ecstacies;

the dreamer's ascent
to Olympian peaks

to dream upon the
dreamt of.



© Cecil Field  

In Sleep.

Dormant, the wistful wings
of poesy -
the scribe of verse in
nurtured domains.

Within the realms of churches
exist no stones
inscribed with the memories
of the reaped -

just embraces of eternities,

Such Sights as Youthful Poets Dream - Walter Crane

whereby the mellow strains
of lyric sought,

the seeds of the symphonies
of the soul's harp
and illustrious images of
illuminated ideal.

A shrine of the passion,
as that of the entwined
bodies of the consumed,

as that of the kindling
of brotherhoods that
endure lifetimes.

Quench tender cravings with
the languor of rosy lips
and echoes of ecstacies about
the deepest caverns of the
soul,
the excesses of the
dream.



© Cecil Field