Wednesday, 13 June 2012

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

Monday, 14 May 2012

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

Saturday, 12 May 2012

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   

Friday, 11 May 2012

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  

Thursday, 10 May 2012

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  

Tuesday, 8 May 2012

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 

Consumed.


Isle of salvation, quench our barren
throats,
we watched as mercifully you
upon the far horizon came, and
felt the fruits teasing our souls
before stone eloped with sand.

I sought the mercy swift -
to all I'd be the saviour.

I pledged against temptation,
vanity or lust - for my soul was
in the hands of another hundred
souls, one hundred souls
expectant.

Though bracelets of the
Narcissi
Hylas and the Nymphs - John William Waterhouse
upon my wrists were bound.

The hopeful waters mirrored
the candles of the
almighty lamp - hanging
low in a setting sky,
possessing still a strength
and stubborn fortitude.

Littered was the iris, in
patterns unassembled,

my image in the pond
a grace ethereal -

Long tresses came to meet it,
mirroring the rushes,
yet faces of a beauty
the rush shall not possess,
not for all the jewels
of royalties.

All they stared,
eyes azures,
emeralds
and maroons,

seven - as the stars of damozels -
staring from life's well,
I let them guide
me forth,
into their tempting
depths
to drown within their
charms.

While all about the
willows
crescendo-ed ceaseless
cry

while all did weep my
passing

the waterlily hid


the truth,


the secrecy.



© Cecil Field

Threaded Tears.

I know you weep,
though what for
you weep
don't know.

A well of angel's
tears
in remembrance of
more pleasant hours,

ascend from crimson to
the tributaries,

Idle Tears - Edward Robert Hughes
while you gaze upon fresh,
blushed harvests
that reminisce of spent
childhoods.

Your sadness pure
as the first stroke
of dawn's
paintbrush,

the water of your eyes
refreshing as all
monumental moments -

As ancient dynasties
waking from their
slumber.

Though haunting as the
last gasp of
breath,
or the cries of the
crow at midnight -

your innocence but a memory
in unforgiving time.






© Cecil Field

Saturday, 5 May 2012

With Northern Winds


New form.



With Northern Winds


By all who prise
over Mother Earth,
upon Boreas I indulge
Boreas - John William Waterhouse
as your echo
meets my
stride.

Journeyed from Northern
peaks,
all valleys and fields
greet you as
four full moons passed.

We are defenceless
to your
messages;
all gates remain
ajar
and the brick
has ceased to be.

Within the pathways
of your reign
we are forgotten -
but by laments
seek selfish
truths.

Beset by drear -
haunted by
Maenadan calls.

My fortune lies
in Theronian chains
beneath the
interstice
of a revered
charioteer
concealing deceit.

His bosom lyre strummed
"I adore mankind free of temptation"
yet did beneath
Love's Passing - Evelyn De Morgan
storm clouds.

My candle fades as
I dream of its
rise,
beside root Summer
trees of
opportunities
as they bloom, yet
my heart shall not.

The daffodil that
garlands my tresses
speaks now of extinction
not only its own;

I hear the wind
a - whisper
beneath my velvet veil
"your love
shall swim again
within
Elysian streams."



© Cecil Field

Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Nameless

Great and entrusted oak, you look upon
Decay. Even now, in your silent sleep
Are circumstances that would see you wish
For the ancient beauty of your roots, to
Hear the roaring of the gallant galleys
Upon a soft sea of salutation
Sound within your girth, though many miles far.
Aged - still firm; possessing a majesty
Over all others that dwell among you.
Our bards chant tunes that are best forgotten;
Their weary lyres strum forsaken strains
Of nothingness, that whisper to no ears
Of the sublime power that saw you rise
To be among the lowest lying clouds,
To hear the symphony of the lark
As it dwells in radiance upon a
Branch that cradles the Summer leaves
That with Autumn take their departure bold.
What does humanity possess but the
Broken strings and the much dissipated
Memories of time? No longer does the
Birdsong soothe or haunt, no longer does
Its echo resonate wonder or woe,
No longer do they gaze on pastures green
And feel the purity grace their solitudes.
Among the bowers just a loneliness
As the greenery's ignored. On the Seas
The tides conduct their deeds without an
Acknowledgement, for beauty is forgot
By those that seek their laments among lies -
The etchers of the scriptures of falsehoods.


© Cecil Field






Autumn Leaves - Sir John Everett Millais

Monday, 30 April 2012

To The Spring

"Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; 
    There are four seasons in the mind of man: 
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear 
    Takes in all beauty with an easy span: "



The Human Seasons by John Keats 1-4









Stormy weather's cast - but the showers lull
In defeat after they unlikely cease,

Allowing - from its nest - silent seagull
To spread its waiting wings, take to the breeze

Above the idylls of the sweet Spring time,
As fanciful flowers bloom once again

Beneath a willow trees bosom - benign -
That once again has leaves, blessed by the rain

That had fallen, leaving a mask of dew
To blanket the hearty heath of heather

That had stood stubborn all the Winter through;
Not surrendered as would the Finch's feather.

I see, within these scenes, tranquillities
Only in solitude enjoyed, the calm

Of the Spring; the season expectantly
Paving the pathway to a Summer psalm.


© Cecil Field



A Song of Springtime - John William Waterhouse

Sunday, 29 April 2012

Meditation on the Beauty of Thought (In Ten Parts)


I

I stared at the Sun, he gazed back at me
With nothing else but the heat of his flame
Burning vivid, bright, eternally free
Of our woes and fears, of our doubt and shame.
In his gaze I beheld nothing but love,
But a silent love, only I could see,
Only I could feel, that from up above
Sent to soothe my soul; Phoebus blessing me.
Setting me adrift, in a tide of thoughts
That blew as the breeze kissing where I lay,
Sole a gentle breeze, not with Sun it fought;
No wish to disturb the celestial day,
For the breeze shall not triumph over Sun
As he radiates to his soul on Earth
That dwells in the trees, the flowers and one
That today he blessed, one whose heart he stirred.


II


Soon the Earth it lay in a scarlet quilt,
Phoebus wearied, rests, come tranquility
Of the crimson calm, as the air grew still
At the slow setting of Sun's majesty.
Although the fading of the Sun had come
Its blessings blossomed with my every step,
Though the birds took flight, from the night they run,
Would not be I who ran, nor I who wept.
For I beheld the Sunset, though its might
Less gallant than in all the previous hours,
For before it sets, 'fore the coming night
Bids goodnight the trees, bids farewell the flowers.
I watched as the Sun dropped behind the peaks,
Levied onto me, it's last parting kiss,
And I ventured forth, hoping that I seek
Shall be found 'neath the cloak of moonlight's bliss.


III


The pale moon, garlanded by the dark
Of an ebony hue, of foreboding,
No soft breeze astir, not the song of lark,
Only in their nests is there comforting.
I don't fear the night, nor fear it's silence,
For does beauty lie, underneath the moon,
For it glistens soft, shines with somnolence
On the open fields not in shadowed gloom.
Mirrored on the lake, guards it while it sleeps,
And the rivers too, as they gently flow
Their dreams and hopes, to the open seas;
From the bosom brook, to the oceans go.
Be it not moonlight, that to which I pledge
My devotion, it's those that watch afar
As they beckon me, my expectant breath
Awaits the blessing of the silent stars.


IV


The stars glimmered, as if to speak to me,
To tell me a new destiny shall dawn,
Though one lonely star, be in agony
As her friends shine bright, she seems bound forlorn
Though her friends blessed me, I yearned for her heart
To find peace and joy, she to Earth descend?
To my soft embrace, where all woes are far
Off on distant lands, to their fate condemned.
Oh almighty stars, favoured to the moon,
It is her I've sought, through the landscapes vast,
And her lonely call, caused in me a swoon
Shows that love for eternity can last.
Bless me, loving stars, and I'll care for thee
With the graces held, in my tender thoughts,
In foreboding night, when the Sun's not seen,
While you guide me on, with your sacred torch.


V


Hark the coming Sunrise, forsake the night
That becomes the distant past once again,
Horizon's hills and mountains come in sight,
The parting from the Darkness' pensive pain.
Though miss the Stars and Moon that came and went
To rest within the laurels of their sleep,
Their reign upon the Darkness now is spent;
I hope they find their rest in comfort deep.
Or an ignorant Sunrise banishing
The dark the guard of flowers that had burned
When selfish Sun had been a-glimmering,
For the solace of Moonlight they had yearned.
Oh solitude, you devious bargainer,
Release but yet a curse at the same time,
The candle of your fruits becomes dimmer
When sometimes I await the Sun to shine.


VI


The Sunlight glistens on the Morning dew,
Awakened are the hedgerows from slumber,
It speaks that it would guard them faithful through
Any a prowling Storm of fresh Thunder.
Then shines upon the remnants of my past,
Released me from the woe and misery
That night had set upon me with its last
Weak breath that reaped and sowed the doubtful seeds.
The grain of my conflicting, to be scythed
With the coming of the majestic Sun,
The yellow of the flame defeats the black,
Return the birds that from the Night had run.
Precious is the war of Darkness and Light,
Beauty created by the imagery,
The black and then the blue of Dark to Bright
Shall drift across my thoughts eternally.


VII


Without a thought, and without all foresight
A Melancholy comes, and shrouds the hills
In a blanket of grey, strength and might
All powerful, the birdsong becomes still.
The lingering new clouds beset the Sun
And take from him his pride and majesty,
The verdant greenery succumbs to one
Who is to all the feared enemy.
He who denies the Sun the right to shine,
He who denies the Swan its elegance,
He who allows my hopefulness to die
And fall among the rocks of circumstance.
The leaves hear whispers of a brewing storm,
Forebodingly advance across the plains
Does he the cunning wraith, no wish to warn
The garden of my thoughts of waiting pain.


VIII


Turbulence, Rain, Wind, and the Thunder strikes
The muse now drowned within Melancholy,
The stubborn reaches of the hope now like
A doomed lover wishing eternal dream.
There is no saving grace from damnation,
The curtain of the deities freely sweeps
Across the lands that once had been freedom
From hours when circumstance does see me weep.
The Storm delights in others misery,
Laughs as his wrath does drown my soul in woe,
I wish to be adrift in open seas
Far from this wilderness that blights me so.
Behold the evening as a calm does come
To see the trees not frightened as they were,
As all their dreams and hopes became undone
In the face of future comfort insecure.


IX

Night has come again, yet there is no Moon,
The Clouds that brought the storm stand dutiful,
Smother the world with unforgiving gloom;
World that had once been bright and beautiful.
Never has one beheld so dark a Night
As this that haunts bosom, heart and soul
Of my existence. As Darkness delights
I shiver due to the treacherous cold.
No life exists within this Hell on Earth,
No movement from the silent Bush or Tree,
No songs of joy or sounds of merry mirth,
That which was joyous now has ceased to be.
Until divinity does come with words
That I did duly pray: belief unknown,
The power of the sacred Universe
Or scriptures of the Prophets scribed in stone?


X


I see a ray of hope among the Clouds,
It gathers strength to have the will to glow,
Conquer over cloud, to stand gallant, proud,
Vanquish my torment trembling far below.
It's she, oh she who had the night before
Stolen my love and faithful devotion,
This moment I wish for her ever more
To come to Earth with tender emotion.
My beacon in the dark of life's eclipse,
My comforter when all so weary be,
She came to me then and upon my lips
Planted a kiss and ever promised me
Her amour through life and eternity.
No more shall Melancholy have its way,
From Storm or Rainfall I'm forever free
From sorrow's sea, with her, to drift away.



© Cecil Field






The Lady of Shalott - John William Waterhouse


Sonnet VI - Sonnet on the Immediate


Sonnet on the Immediate.


Sublimest silence, trust your thoughts to take
Centre stage within the immediate
Moment, where with our wilful wish we wait
For circumstance of destinies and fates.
We see the night sky, we see the sweet stars
That signal to us of Apollo's thoughts
On our destinies, just as he was taught
To wear comfort's cloak or misery's mask.

And with our patience in the dreary dark
Await a faithful flame (or drop of rain
To fall, come with it pain) to seize the star.
Free, forsake fate's future, dwell presently
In the moment, may it be a memory
For such a moment may not be again.

© Cecil Field


Endymion - Arthur Hughes

Sonnet V - Sonnet of the Sun


Sonnet of the Sun


Then resonates the regal Sun; it dawns
Sweet, brushing bright amber on the canvas
That had rested in a black cloud of ash
Before the coming of the mighty morn.
Soft, not devious, light of the future
Hours and minutes and seconds wherein
Bright glows in the morning, noon and evening
With the comforting of a blessing pure.

A wilful warmth upon the fields below
That rest with the corn upon their soil; that drenched
In the rays of the sunlight feel no woe.
And the freedom of the pleasure's not fenced
Within the shadow of a lingering cloud,
That shan't with sorrow's spite a sunset shroud.


© Cecil Field



Knight of the Sun - Arthur Hughes

Sonnet IV - Sonnet of Lotus


Sonnet of Lotus.


Tonight I have consumed, and shall consume
With every tormenter to pass away.
To see the flowers of my soul in bloom,
To see me rise amidst expectancy.
Yet I gaze now upon the final flight,
Enough for one night: slay my sins, bring hope,
Yet when flight shall fall, what to do but cry
In wanting, for returns the weary woe.

Oh solitude, great and beauteous dream,
In faith we're lost within a sky that gleams
The calm and superstition of a lucid beam.
By sacred promises that aren't to die -
Do not forsake my flight to fall, to cry
As all the world's winds pass us by the by.

© Cecil Field



Land of the Lotus Eaters - Robert Duncanson

Sonnet III - Sonnet of Fallen Hope


Inspired to write this after reading Petrarch's "Canzoniere":


"Apollo, should the fair desire still last 
that burned you where Thessalian waters flow,
if golden tresses loved so long ago
be not forgotten with the ages past;"

Petrarch, The Canzoniere (Sonnet 34 1-4) [Anthony Mortimer translation]



Sonnet of Fallen Hope.


Oh, Great Apollo, dost thou see me now
In thorns that once were roses, bright and bound;
Protected, e'er upon a sunlit ground
That woke and softly slept beneath your brow.
Yet now you mock and curse, whereby I weep
For days that passed me by in joys of dreams,
And nights that soothed my cries, they did redeem
Me from the solace of eternity.

Beneath the drooping greens of willow trees
Where at I meditate upon my life
And weep to see the day that I shall rise.
There brushed along by an unpleasant breeze,
A breeze, of such Apollo, washed with strife
As fountains of my hopefulness wane dry.



© Cecil Field



Beata Beatrix - Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Sonnet II - Sonnet on Love's Circumstance.


Some eventually wishful musings:


Sonnet on the Love's Circumstance


Some lovers come to us in passion brief;
Have their pleasures way, charm and soothe the soul.
Yet come passion's death as the night grows old
They adorn their garments and swiftly leave.
It is those that stay, persist, tempt the mind
To a dream like state, their bold image, proud
It stays, stands resolutely to its ground,
Emblazoned, as a portrait, or as a shrine.

It is this I've sought, across Ocean's wide
That parted my soul to conflict and pain;
That now, with your image, can soon subside.
As melancholy came and went again
A new horizon's spied across a Sea
Of a love that shall last eternally.


© Cecil Field



Tristram and Isolde drinking the Love Potion - Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Sonnet I - Sonnet on Isolation


Some momentary morbidity:


Sonnet on Isolation


This hour am I remembered any more?
Am I ash of a former vibrant flame?
Shall I once more burn, shall I rise again
Or lie forsaken on a cobbled floor?
Shall the wood appear, see to my rise?
Or coal, for a faster redemption?
For if not to be, shall I be the one
That weeps and sinks in some forgotten tides?

Manifested woe, has befallen me,
Where there once had been a flame bold and bright
That burned with the dawn, and beaconed the night.
And now, with the hour of sorrow's might
There only shines the faintest, dwindling light,
Not the gallant torch that it used to be.

© Cecil Field



Solitude - Frederic Lord Leighton

October Day


I wrote this poem last October. I had been (foolishly) prescribed Olanzapene, thus was forced to take an unscheduled nap in the field within which I was musing. When I awoke - somewhat bemused by my surroundings - I had a sudden burst of inspiration:



The world rolls by this sunlit
Day
With soft breeze upon the tree
Tops,
That sounds away the
Yesterday
That came rain upon the
Rocks
And many a cloud of
Grey.

Yesterday brought cold and
Wet,
With fear and woe of
Rain,
Today brought forward Sun to
Let
The breeze forget the
Pain
And with it peace be
Met.

Sun, oh Sun, don't cease to
Shine
Or perish into the
Gloom;
Let your rays exalt the
Mind,
Never leave it to its
Tomb
Nor leave its love
Behind.

What may then, the next day
Bring,
The sunlight or the
Dark?
Will the birds still softly
Sing?
Will there still exist the
Lark
When the new dawn does
Begin?



© Cecil Field




Ferdinand Lured by Ariel - Sir John Everett Millais