Month: Nov 2016

The mind runs on

irlandesuk poetry

The mind runs on

Dust down the truth
         see how it has suffered
over the years
         how it has been creased
and scuffed and abused
         on the tongues of vicious
loathsome charlatans

the mind runs on and on
         to birds and bees and butterflies
and to the taste of fresh honey
         that drips from the mouth
and the elixir of love

leave the past where it lies
         undisturbed
no good can come from it
         no further good
from the ash of embers
         cold as the coldest stone

her face in the light
         all the perfection I need
one loving moment
         hatched from another
framed in the memory
         there is all there is

two black crows
         on the live rail
of the railway track
         share a crust of bread
broken in their beaks
         life is survival
so too love
         love alone

John Lyons

Remembrance Sunday

irlandesuk poetry

Remembrance Sunday

What is it that flows
         onwards and out to the sea
the river swollen
         by the evening rains
so that it rises
         to barely a metre
below the jetty
         and a light wind
ruffles its surface
         where white gulls
bob up and down
         and though the sky
is winter grey
         the day itself is mild
and what a river needs
         is volume and pace and power
and a clear sense of direction
         and it certainly has that
on this solemn November day
         on which the grave dead
of the two World Wars
         are remembered

and I think of her voice
         its soft singing tone
the gentle rise and fall
         of her graceful words
live on her lips
         her voice that is
so often within me
         and how the torrent of love
flows passionately
         to and fro
and back and forth
         from one to another
in the give and take of it all
         and of the happiness
that words can bring
         the warp and woof
that binds the narrative
         just as two bodies
are intimately joined
         in all honour

John Lyons

Origins

irlandesuk poetry ,

Origins

Dust that coalesces
         monomers and polymers
the primordial soup
         out of which life emerged
and with it
         the possibility of love
all driven by energies
         from the sun
and I think of you
         in your constituents
in your history
         in your childhood
and adolescence
         in your maternal role
in the journey of time
         through the maturing years
and in all your displacements
         and in all the challenges
that you have faced
         and the multitude of factors
that have brought you
         so close to me
and so dear to my heart
         so that I feel your flesh
to be my own
         your blood to be
the blood that courses
         through my veins
your kiss to be ours
         your love to be us

At first there was a darkness
         deeper than the deepest night
a cosmic nothingness
         until all hell was let loose
Such was our origin
         and so I think of you
as a pure body of light
         illuminating my life

John Lyons

Nightfall

irlandesuk poetry

Nightfall

Evening descends
         to extinguish the light
and a desolate sky
         weighs on my shoulders
Why is the past
         so unforgiving
the present so pitiless
         : was this the day
that love left on tiptoe
         my affections disdained
my kiss turned away ?
         I now carry my heart
in my pocket
         ragged and spent

We loved one day
         at a time
and for a time
         it was good
until the hand
         was dropped
Love may return
         sooner rather
than later but
         as for my breath
I will not hold it
         or I may die

John Lyons

Perhaps

irlandesuk poetry

Perhaps

A rainbow cannot be broken
         nor a smile : perhaps
there is another house
         where someone waits for me
with a garden filled with trees
         and a long sloping lawn
and in the centre a bed of roses
         in full bloom and fruit hanging
on some of the trees
         cherry and peach and plum
and tart Bramley apple
         and a sky filled with blue and swallows
and all the scents of summer
         I remember those who once lived there
long since departed
         now nothing more than names
and I remember that day
         we lay on the grass
and I ran my fingers through her hair
         the hair that slipped through my fingers
and how history shows no remorse
         Perhaps there is still
another garden
         where someone waits for me
and a coat for me to wear
         of fine cloth and many colours
that the sunlight will adore
         and perhaps there will be a day
when she says that she loves me
         and it will be true

John Lyons

After Pierre Reverdy

irlandesuk poetry , , , ,
pierre-reverdy
Reverdy, by Modigliani (1915)

Pierre Reverdy (1889 –1960) was a French poet whose works fed into the art movements of his day, Surrealism, Dadaism and Cubism.

He also had an enduring relationship with Coco Chanel. Reverdy’s poetry was revered by Frank O’Hara and John Ashbery, both of whom were translators of his work.

After Pierre Reverdy

Who knows where time will end
         nor the long night of betrayal
as when the morning comes
         and one has not slept
as when arctic winds
         sweep down
to efface all passion
         and cool the blood of desire
as when reason
         stiffens into ice

See how the dead stars
         veer in the black sky
and we reach for our souls
         but we have lost
all sense of distance

In the present debacle
         even a fool can be a king
many are
         and soulless
we have become detached
         from the memory of those beauties
that once nourished our dreams

Life consumes us
         day by day
it gnaws at our flesh
         until our muscles grow slack
and we mutter
         heavenless prayers
as slowly we sink deeper
         into the damp clay
whence we sprang

He who loved wisely
         he who loved well
may yet have the last laugh
         but make no mistake
the rest are all damned
         to eternity

John Lyons

In the realm of senses

irlandesuk poetry

In the realm of senses

Can poetry heal a body
         broken on the wheel of time
can words redeem
         what the senses have lost ?
All my life I have been
         in two minds or more
the number is an irrelevance
         my imagination crowded out
by the glow of winter stars
         What I have thirsted for
I have yet to find
         but I have been driven
to know the nature of things
         of love principally
and beauty and truth
         perhaps all part and parcel
of the fabric and burden 
         of the world

Poetry the voice
         of acquired intuitions
fed by the fret and fury
         and tender frailties
of human commerce
         Do not say
that reason is maimed
         that the tongue raves
or that the mind stumbles
         into darkness
nor that there is no wit
         in love :
it is the body
         that makes sense of the mind
that makes sense of the body
         and from that marriage
all dreams are born
         and lived out in substance
so that the frost that clings
         to every blade of grass
clings as much to the mind
         that shivers with the cold
so that when love too turns away
         and a light is extinguished
the gentle warmth of a cheek
         is lost forever

John Lyons

Birth day

irlandesuk poetry

Birth day

And so at dawn the rain falls
         and I hear the patter
as it beats
         against the window pane
watch as it collects
         into tiny irregular streams
and runs down the glass
         and finds its way
to the ground : and I know
         that the rain will return
time and time again
         an endless natural cycle
but not eternal
         because it’s not impossible
that conditions may change
         and so too
the nature of life circumstances
         may continuously alter

Take accidental love
         that is not present at the start
is not a thing in itself
         but is a process of being
or coming into being
         a love of one loyal to another
and to the creation
         of a common good
in a shared space
         but unlike a property
free of floor and ceiling
         that thrives nevertheless
on its own air
         a poetry inseparable
from its own inner constitution
         not owned but lived
a radiant simplicity
         a necessary love

John Lyons

Coda

irlandesuk poetry

Coda

My eyes trapped in time
         but not my heart
which can rove to and fro        
         back and forth
catch my second breath
         and as the evening
closes in so the mind is released 
          from its shackles
and lives for a moment
         untrammelled

How many days
         add up to a life
and what is there to tell
         in the telling ?
I have sat
         by so many windows
entered and left
         by so many doors
shed so much in the process
         been ruled by a restlessness
a desire to accumulate
         petty wisdoms
knowing all the while
         that we are but reflections
of momentary flames
         overrun in the end by time

To be
         better than not to be
Louis wrote — one fine day
          woven into the next
and to retain a certain texture
         a blend of novelty
and the recurrence of pleasures
         that mitigate the pain

This evening a red sunset
         bitterly cold but a promise
of better days ahead
         make what you can of it
that’s all you have : we are actual
         and nothing else

John Lyons

A noise in the clouds

irlandesuk poetry ,

A noise in the clouds (revised)

We are not born of a nothing
         but from substantial energies
At night we chase the stars
         in our fleeting dreams
but these scattered constellations
         are far from being figments
of banal fantasy — we too are
         fragments from the Big Bang
there is only one origin after all
         and nothing is lost
in this closed universe
         neither wisdom nor nonsense

On this cold wintry morning
         I see the play of soft light
on the panels of the wooden fence
         at the end of the garden
I see leaves gently ruffled
         by a winnowing wind
and I know that all things
         bear the same imprint
the rocks and stones and trees
         the daffodils in the meadows
that rise up from the banks of the lake
         every aspect perfectly mirrored
just as each star illuminates its neighbour
         we in our so separate souls
share this common bond
        all being extraterrestrials
and this earth a mere landing craft
         upon which our atoms
have gathered into clusters
         that are an ardent expression
of the energies within :
         we are the light in our eyes
the living word on our own lips
         we are the sense of it all
and for that reason
         love is nothing less than
the revolution of one body
         around another

John Lyons