Friday, 29 January 2016


Would that one beam of that lemon-kissed 
hellebore of waking dreams 
would smile upon my bereft brush!
Would that I could thread my loom with one
strand of that rippling azure veil!
Would that my heartstrings could splash
one note of the salt spray's 
silver-blue chords upon my stave!
I seek to capture Earth's storms of colour,
my mortal senses scouring
her swathes for their sagas and songs.
Yet, nor words nor pigment
could repeat the hues and tones of visions,
echoes of olden memories.
Nyx retreats, glancing darkly upon one who
would immortalise her treasures.
Nay, Goddess, my unversed hands find no
accord with a fractious canvas
that will not be sullied by counterfeit
moonglow and starlight.
Eos processes across its spotless expanse,  
coral banners of momentary victory
raised to the frowning trireme of the West,
anon yielding to mighty Helios,
undesirous of clinging to her past eminence.
Briny waters speak from turquoise depths,
the Song of Eternity upon their ancient breath.
I am a mere bubble upon their spume,
my mind and spirit housed in withering flesh,
enmeshed in a premise
of substance and separateness,
pondering posterity and permanence.
I shall contemplate the Universe's Art this Day,
the moment of glorious culmination, 
when strands of wind, light, spray and souls
shall be One.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image: THE DAWN (edited)
Artist: John La Farge 

Tuesday, 26 January 2016


Frosted concretions glisten through
the softness of snowy palls;
ever and anon, a bitter whiff tinges
Earth's silvern wreaths,
discarnate, yet gravid,
as the disenchantment of blossoms 
that perish by the Sun 
not an inviolate, perennial malaise,
but a deep melancholy
afflicts our Mother,
inveigled into Her gaze and aspect
by Winter's breath.

It is not sorrow that rests heavy upon
my brow, nor the weight
of dotage that cumbers my limbs,
bows my spine.
Nay, it is Time's slow tread through 
this air heavy with decay,
these astringent fumes that freeze
the white soliloquy of stillness
in my throat.
Rime-rimmed leaves swirl around my
wistful feet, their dry, brown rasps 
echoing the Season's rhyme,
their spiral dance tracing the path
of the sacred cycle.

I ponder Earth's frigid, fleecy mantle,
severe, unembellished,
shrouding her barrenness, as soon the
ground would my own.
Nay, Winter does not dissemble, 
nor does she sweeten her tenor with
divers hues and vignettes;
age and wisdom bid me seek her
desolate beauty, her eloquent quietude,
for therein to find my peace.
My eyes alone shall speak in her
formidable presence, flashing the light 
of storms to come, a light that sweeps
away the darkness before me.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Fernand Khnopff

Thursday, 21 January 2016


You feared the light for
the shadows it cast.
Yet, you retreated
into the dark,
into an incorporeal guise
for the archaean
sorrow scrawled upon
your bones.
You engraved its pulse 
upon your skin,
its bloom rapidly shrinking
from life,
parched for want of
flowing warmth
and fleshy ballast,
bleeding lines
painstakingly scored,
perfectly parallel,
like the bars of your
inner confinement.
Crimson wounds blossomed,
paled to cold white scars,
soon a tangled mass,
livid weeds in the
garden of your soul,
leaching the joy that should
have been its bequest.
In vain I sought to dull the
invisible blade
that slashed at your heart
from within,
consuming your reflection,
feeding your demons,
these arbiters of your baptism
of unceasing denial.
I shall never know the lives you
lived in your dreams,
for you have erased every trace
of the past and present.
I shall not seek you in your
wonted haunt, I have not
the stomach for such a dark.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image source:
Artist: Margarita Georgiadis

Monday, 18 January 2016


Your dwelling I defend, your spirit preserve;
my fruit Nature crowned with
an ancient star, arcane sigil of her protection.
Sacred am I to fair Brighid,
born in the Goddess' land of the faery folk,
upon Earth shielded
by the Guardian of the Otherworld.
Many a forlorn heart seeks expression in my
green shade, listening for whispers
of the ineffable, for the language of Grace that
is the blood of the sacred cycle.
In my light shall mortal words glow brighter,
imbued with hues of my import.
The Tree of Immortality am I, destined to fly
as Brighid's arrows;
to swirl and sing as spinning wheel and spindle,
sharing in your labours of love, your art.
My branches shall build Beltane's fires,
Samhain's blazing torches, my music thus set
free, thence to drift over Earth's vastness,
that I may taste a new and remote air,
my song shining against the looming night,
where once the Wheel of Fire edged my boughs
and leaves with gold.
The flowers of my soul shall forever bloom in
this sacred air; 
my shade, now greener, shall ray from a briefly
barren hollow through Spring's first Dawn.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image source:

Saturday, 16 January 2016


What green light beckons me into
the Spring Dawn?
'Tis the nodding, newborn leaves of
the blessed Rowan,
the ungraspable inflection of bliss 
at their first glimpse of 
the Great Fire in wildly various voices
ringing the sleeping forest awake.
And I am reborn to the birth-song of
this verdant chorus,
my spirit reawakening to Nature's
transcendent eloquence,
conceding my own ineffectual mortal
articulation of Creation's wonder 
scrivened upon pallid parchment.
Nay, these woods hold testimonials
of the Highest Artistry.
I shall not pray this Season
at your feet, leafed Sage,
for a facility with words; I shall implore
blankness, oblivion,
that I may lie upon your roots,
for to listen to Mother's own song,
that Earth may pen her hymn
to the Great Source upon my being.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image source:

Thursday, 14 January 2016


My impalpable canvas, 
fount and mirror
of your soul's vision,
was, is and shall ever be;
mortals shall not note 
Eternity's flow,
though each child of Earth
its portion may claim 
upon its bosom,
marking the passing 
of minutes, hours and days,
heedless of
my patterns and ways,
for I measure Life,
as it drifts past my
boundless threshold.
My spiralling shadow is the
constant companion
of your soul's thirst,
of its fearful flight from
the Light that would
loose its fetters.
Wisdom, the Great Source's
emissary and sentinel,
beckons to all who
weary of the dark,
its mileposts concealed, 
yet perceived through
nebulous sweeps
of your inscience, 
its beacon invoking your
own inner flame,
that you may emerge
healed and restored from
your storm of quiet,
this place of penance
upon your quest.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Franҫois Lemoyne

Monday, 11 January 2016


Countless prayers have I launched
into the ether upon flamelets
of my soul, since its desire I spoke
amid the dross of earthly life.
"A world of mirages lures all who
crave respite from strife,
a desolate hush of shadows where
dark oblivion awaits, where words
and steps fall thoughtless, astray.
I would follow the disdained beating
of Wisdom's solitary drum
into resplendent stillness, for among
sages to meditate upon
the Universe's ways,
for to attend the flow of Time's tides
through the Summer of life
past my rustic threshold.
What need have I of Ambition,
of one who strives to master himself
before Fate, endeavouring to find
meaning in his ceaseless struggle?
Truth and Beauty elude him;
rebirth by the unseen glow of the dark
moon shall he never know,
nor the futility of man-made words
that simulate Nature's sounds,
but not her voice, nor her essence.
How shall he construe being, who has
silenced his spirit?
I would explore the vital element of our
deathless souls,
the Light that subtends all Creation.
I would contemplate all, behold all,
beneath the skies of Eternity."

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Apollinary Vasnetsov 

Thursday, 7 January 2016


How ineffable is the mind of man, 
its formless fabric a tortuous
triumph of foreordination and will; 
I would live bereft of my shadow,
the very device 
that tethers me to Gaia's realm.
I would be as a waveless ocean
plumbing its tides in etheric depths, 
as a wingless ave swept skyward 
upon plumes of light, 
bartering motion for glimpses of
Infinity's farthest reaches.

Among leafless trees I mark every
silhouette save mine,
one barren as the Winter to which
it clings, withering in pallid,
brooding calm. In a reality apart,
sun-drunk storms dance on, 
as I alone dream forgotten dreams  
upon a dextrorse pathway
around an argentine axis of quiet, 
an unseen turbulence
propelling its soundless, rhythmic
twirling, divergent impulses
ballasting Life's flow.

Memory draws her divine veil over
my slumbers' plains,
wakening a dell the frost has spared, 
dispelling vapours of sorrow 
and rainbow mirages, merging black
whirpools with seas of bliss.
Time loops around me, 
yesterday's blooms rise to Summer's
footfall in this vale of eternal joy,
bestowing upon me visions of Light,
expanding my spirit to its core.
Mnemosyne, Mother of Inspiration,
would not forsake me.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image: THE IDEAL (edited)
Artist: Louis Janmot

Tuesday, 5 January 2016


At Asteria's feet I combat my mortal self;
I would navigate distant spirals of divine light,
yet, I am a child of Apollo's realm,
ever faithful to the fragile silver filament
his golden orb nurtures, 
that bonds my soul to Life's web,
to a feeble bastion of flesh and bone,
this locus of timeless wars.
I seek those who seek me, fearful of all 
that would sever my conduit to earthly breath.
Yet, I would unshackle my spirit
from false images of virtue,
from malign forces that defile this living Shrine
wandering the ether. 
I am one of a lost, frail tribe,
a dreamer at the foot of the Tree of Life,
aspiring to trace rivers of ancient wisdom that
link Truth to man's polarities,
to paradoxes, to the mind and spirit, to illusions.
Could I dance with etheric tempests, 
fill my cup from the Great Source?
I would flow with atoms upon cosmic seas to
the Sage of the North,
at his altar lay impeding doubts, 
for the life threads of seers, it is said,
are wound upon his spindle. 
I shall implore Polaris' protection, his tutelage.
The storm within now bestilled,
I breathe the hope that Time shall lead me to
the most sacred of wordless oaths
made in shadowless demesnes
of an eternal Sun. Its fire would consume
veils of shade, its rays linger in my inner eye,
that I may tread the Path of Light upon Earth.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Source: www.wikiart,org
Artist: Paul Cézanne 

Sunday, 3 January 2016


Alone I hold my course truthward
as voyager of the skies,
as a witness of promise unfolding
through darkness and despair.
This is my purpose,
my chosen path, inscribing circles
over radiant eminences,
pondering the art of moonbeams
upon rippling peacock brine,
my wandering spirit sending forth
tear-stained gazes 
into its sheltering caverns.
Sole that magnificent dome of blue
could gladden my vision,
for I am a seeker of depths and
teller of tales, who would live
everywhere, everywhen,
communing with souls that would 
speak their traversing.
Such chronicles would abide with the
certainty of Eternal Light
that mourns not the departed, 
for its flames live,
though forms perish; its strains echo
through the ether,
though voices be silenced.
Shall not Destiny ever be thus?
Life's waves of bliss and desolation, 
tides of hope rising and ebbing,
shall whelm the comeliest moon,
disperse the brightest stellar concourse, 
as newborn vessels rise to sight.
Would that I could evermore journey
through Time and Universes,
circumambulate cosmic consciousness,
my breaths and being I would pledge
to portray each sacred cycle
in silver and blood, with my earthly road
to merge before predawn skies.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Carl Schweninger