Wednesday, 30 July 2014

One week in

Poetry is fleeting but rewarding on an emotional level. Personally writing about people and feelings helps me better understand them.

Life without this is akin to life spent spurning good music and food or new experiences and wild places.

Thanks for reading and feel free to comment.

Tuesday, 29 July 2014


Swollen Vega nearing end
fallen vacant to the din
kicked careless and calling on
Chantilly's feted skin

A pantomime carousing all
Vultur cadens in ties
Hope in fools gripping her
blacken to the dogged lies


Saturday, 26 July 2014

Wild Forces

At plights' zenith you scorch the sky
And paint it sated in your calm
The clouds afflicted by your sigh
The gentle rolling of your psalm
For that I love your midday smile
And cower not in furies' shade
But bask touched by passions wile
To live before warm ardours fade.

Friday, 25 July 2014


Footfalls of broken men, 
Once built a lauded state
Upon the callous brown
Start stones on lovers' tryst
Growing from the murky feet
A grandeur swallows all
So piercing is it's gaze
Commanding, it stands tall
It throws it's mighty fist
Over the quarries' scar
And keeps the fetters down
Those shackles reaching far

The Blue Depth of the sky

My blog is named in honour of W.B. Yeat's poem The Magi:


Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones, 
And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.

Yeats and Shelley both, in their intense and beautiful poetry, convinced me that for me that poetry works well as a creative outlet. It helps me form opinions and think on topics, rather than be swayed by common wisdoms and countenance. The images created in these short pieces, mysticism and occult entwined are so removed from life now, and so rebellious at the time they were written. 

Thursday, 24 July 2014

Mourning Songs

Lately the sound' of the mourning
amidst wreckage groans "ever-war"
not an errant thought to stop
this 'blood-let' read(chopping-shop)
certain to sight its mordant maw
re-lance the seething boil of Man.
Never learn, never make time;
to sing it right and fair and free
the music here- lamenting thee.

Wednesday, 23 July 2014

Glasgow 2014

Watching Scotland play host to the friendly games.

Always reminded of the colossal scale of the commonwealth, this isn't a small irrelevant competition it is more akin to continental in scale and greater still in myriad culture.

Scotland are pulling off the most ridiculous dress, I believe someone said "It clashes with itself" - But they look strangely good.


Looks way worse beforehand

Dark Star

The allure of a spotless sky,
in the middle of the night,
countless guttered out candles,
tender absence of the light.
Sheltered by my dark-ling high
and sweet submission yet to find,
my fingers crave gross handfuls
of darkness and leaves me blind
for amour of my, spotless sky.

(Written on 11/11/2012)

© Caleb Chatfield and SeekingSinecure, 2011-

Hello World!

The monumental first step! Welcome to my sounding-board, a humble soapbox of my ideas and thoughts low and high. Poetry, daily musings and simply an excuse to write and be happy.

Thanks for reading and sorry.