Monday, 30 November 2015


I could not shine your truth as the stars,
those cosmic mirrors of fire
wheeling along Destiny's pathway.
The Sun sustains my art,
as spalls of conjured, contrived radiance.
Before my silent presence
you leach the core of your courage, 
drawing its essence into
your lonely armour,
for I am your tractable ally in the wings 
of life's stage,
powerless before your veiled eyes,
a voiceless inhabiter of this ephemeral 
sphere of matter. 
Aye, I am an instrument of your illusions
and their perpetuation,
of your charades and vanities.

Yet, I see the triskelion of your inner light;
your immense paracosm
and secret caverns of mystery;   
the wings you seek to rise to your higher
your spirit's oneness with Nature's power.
Would that you could see
buried blossoms, a corroding Spring
within your unseen perdition!
Would that you could know your most
redoubtable foe,
one who mocks the bloodless veins and
sunless catacombs of your self-abnegation!
Stand unguarded before yourself,  
for you would glimpse a garden abandoned,
seeds you neither sun nor water,
roots that lie hidden in the grasp of Time.

© 2015 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Sir Frank Dicksee

Sunday, 29 November 2015


I dreamt a dream of Beauty's fane,
of sublimity beyond
birth and ascension, of a brightness
that transcends faith and hope,
of timeless Grace
that is a law unto itself.
My spirit traced Her path through a
substanceless shimmer,
as a peasant's eye the lark's song
across Dawn's brow,
calling to Her ethereal silvery gold,
as a smothered leaf
bereft of reviving Summer showers
to the nightingale, 
whose liquid strains alone could
drench its parched throat.
Upon the threshold of Her cosmic
sanctum I stood,
regarding the pinnacle of Eternity's 
design with a child's 
pure, wondering gaze that binds
dewdrops to the stars.
Infant souls embraced before Her
altar of aery alabaster, 
beneath Polaris' hallowed light,
His glow, Her temple dome,
His orb, its blazing oculus.
What oblation could I lay at the feet
of Time's own daughter,
of Nature's second soul?
- Naught had I, but tears of rapture
and my mortal devotion. 
An invocation for Life I cast into the
stream of prayers that moat
Her Universal shrine.

© 2015 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Sir Edward John Poynter

Friday, 27 November 2015


Rise, little stars and great, gleaming
as mirrors small and immense,
each a force of mystical sympathy
in a realm of subtler light.
Dreams and reflections you bestow
upon me, every vision and likeness
a portal into my soul.
Castor clads my weeping shadow in
a cilice; Pollux bids Mercy crown
my bleeding brow;
Polaris surrounds me with his myriad
gently guiding arms,
as the Pleiades, Nymphs of the skies,
smile upon Nyx and her children;
Gienah draws me into his dark camber,
willing me to take wing, 
to discover motion within my stillness;
Rigel anchors me to Gaia's dominion;
Altair bears me into the ether.
In tempests and temples my silhouette
shines, in idylls and Stygian depths,
upon thresholds of mysteries.
With arms outstretched I yield to this
hallowed dome that reveals
to me my every self; the fallacies of my
illusory triumphs; deeper, hidden
meanings in the mundane;
my wounds and wings.

© 2015 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image: NIGHT
Artist: Auguste Raynaud

Tuesday, 24 November 2015


Day's harsh glow wearies me,
this Keeper of illusions,
her sharp rays sundering Life
into brightness and shade,
cloaking treasures and 
trantles in the selfsame gold.

I close my sun-blinded eyes,
seeking that vibrant part
of my being human
perverseness could not sully, 
prospecting the inner indigo,
a sempiternal twilight
that is my refuge from man's
wanton debasement of
blessings that are his alone.

Gilt masks are your preserve,
Helios, as pyrrhic victories
and perfidious pretensions.
Night, our gentle preserver,
marks all Creation with edges
darkly silver, with moonlit
brush and starry, tracing
shadows within shadows.

Truth is her robe; Selene's fair,
fulgent visage, her mirror;
starglow, her embrocation. 
Hers is a space of revelation,
of atonement and restoration,
stilling the mind and
sparking the soul.

What shall my book of life be?
A treasury, perchance,
of retreats into the serene folds
of Mother Nyx's inky robes,
of luminous moments spent in
stirring converse with
Hypnos and Thanatos.
I would be a word in Time's 
Annals of Starlight.

© 2015 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Pedro Américo

Sunday, 22 November 2015


A ghostly quiver slid into the
space of my trance,
a presence of clear shadows
and vaporous dew,
a power unsought, uninvoked, 
yet sensible to the eye
that paints the unseen dove
upon hearing the beat
of its wings.

No wight was this, nor spirit's
echo, nor godly light.
Still, it seemed an oddment of
shattered divine emanation,
restively fluttering through the
indigo vortex of my 
inner eye as Spring's spectral
butterfly over Winter's
white wasteland.

"Are you the forgotten goddess
of legends, whose dictum
mystics and priestesses expound?
What grave transgression
provoked your exilement from
Ogygia's dominion?
What torment caused the ichor
to bleed from your
immortal veins?"

The inky hush grew ever deeper,
subsuming my whispered
musings. The lost divinity sighed,
her resolute melancholy
luminous with helpless eloquence.
The Light spoke her name,
for words are denied her in death,
this deity of Silence,
fair Calypso.

© 2015 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Jan Styka

Friday, 20 November 2015


To Her I pledged my devotion in
the damasked twilight,
amid mists reflecting Morning's
dappled, dreaming gold,
within the deepening shade of
Winter's penurious Sun,
by swirling eddies that were
Autumn's crypt.

At Her altars I knelt through the
ages and Seasons,
where Daphnis and Chloe loved,
where Crocus, Hyacinth
and Anemone sprang from the
blood of Her favoured children,
where Orpheus wept for Eurydice,
where Clytie yet pines for Apollo.

At the sonneteer's feet I learned
her ways, at the melodist's
and painter's, for She dwells, 
it is said, in the artist's aura.
My eyes wept my soul's joy to see
the sculptor at his craft, 
as he caressed the marble into life, 
for She guided his
worshipping hand, casting Her
divine shadow upon matter,
bestowing upon it Her light.

Over ancient arcane tomes I pored, 
imbibing mystics' precepts
and meditations. Seers expounded 
Her spirit's devices in contradictions
and inversion, 
in the merging of paradoxes, 
in displacement and death, for such
hold promises of transition.

I see Her now in the Temple blaze and
the sacrificial flame,
in flowering and decay, in the eternal
sacred cycle that directs all Life.
Here shall I praise Her, till velvet tides 
bear me to Her Universal Shrine.

© 2015 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Ivan Shishkin

Wednesday, 18 November 2015


Scintillating swarms welled from
an agatine astral spring,
from a fulminating fluid sconce
of deepening ultramarine
and purple brume, raining life
and light upon my soul's
wishful, wistful windows.

My poet's heart strained towards 
the ethereal geode,
that fount of fiery filaments, 
as if to peer into elysian bowers,
aiming to espy divinities
at their craft,
unwinding clinquant moments
from Time's singing,
swinging spools. 

Each burnished orb scalded the
ether, emanating binary trails,
every strand distinct, 
yet linked to its twin by a barely
discernible thread of kinship.

My seeker's spirit now ponders
the doubling light,
a transmutation sacred as birth,
bewildered by visions
of an exalted consciousness 
beyond the domain of
earthly percipience.

What deity would bestow this
unforeseen benediction
upon one so unworthy?
Do I not contemplate mystics'
accounts with yearning
bereft of the hope and faith
that govern more 
venturous souls?

"In the seeking of the Light is its
worship, in the treading
of its path is sacred fellowship
with the Universe.
Seek Truth and Beauty, pilgrims all!
Thus shall ye know that
radiant composite."

© 2015 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Eduard Veith

Monday, 16 November 2015


She paints the Dawn, ardent as Spring's
thrush, her godly brush flitting
as a note from Calliope's own lyre,
gliding at the pace of Summer's ripening
over fragrant grapes nestled
in Apollo's palms, their blood, redolent of
his vaulted realm, soon to grace
his Golden bowl.

Hovering hues weep and laugh through
her luculent meditations with
strokes and stains, silhouettes and shapes,
as she sways and twirls
to the rhythm of the Horae's song, kindling
turbulence and peace alike 
within Life and Being, for she is Nature's
second Soul, shining beyond the confines
of her mutable vessel.

At her feet the Nymphs and Muses kneel,
as their favoured children
of Parnassus and Earth, as with her sister
Truth she pens silver reams, 
these to adorn Time's sacred Book of Days.
Her luminous legacy she gives
unto Eternity, this omnipresent fount that
soothes the stricken spirit,
opens mortal eyes to wonder and divinity. 

© 2015 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Philip Hermogenes Calderon 

Sunday, 15 November 2015


I awoke to a pale periwinkle chalice
Nyx tipped over in her haste,
spilling sparkling sprays upon Dawn's
recumbent form,
Beauty anointing Beauty,
a lustrous parade streaming through 
barren Earth's grey dreams.

Brimming radiants spouted fireballs;
attired in a wondrous furore
of stardust streams and opal haze,
the Goddess floated from
feast to fulminating feast.
I sought words amid her scattered
jewels, for to versify
this splendour, frame its nebulous lapis
nacrescence in strands wrought
from Night's own radiance....

Want of breath stifled my burgeoning
hubris; such a quest was destined
for worthier mortals. Still, I cannot cease
pondering Beauty's immensity,
her depth and reach.
What birthed this elusive Force that stirs 
the most arid spirit to fervent response?
Through what hallowed ether
glide her impulses to willing substrates
that are convergences of
soul, mind, heart and vision?

Unseen, unheard, yet perceived, she raises 
the lowliest to the Light, 
elevating matter to a lesser, tangible divinity,
blessing the insatiate human eye with
momentary glimpses of the preternatural,
the soul, with whispered portraits
of revelation, of ascension,
nor promises, nor pronouncements,
yet, echoing the essence of the Absolute.

© 2015 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image: MORNING STARS (edited)
Artist: Sarah Paxton Ball Dodson