Year: 2016

Musings of the third order

irlandesuk poetry ,

Musings of the third order

Through the grey rain
         comes light
that gently lifts the sky
         the sun mirrored on wet leaves
that rock back and forth
         in the soft breeze
fingering its way forward
         I hear the howl
as it finds its way
         around the taller structures

If nothing lasts forever
         then hope never dies
eternity and infinity
         are after all
words of condemnation
         no Dante to rescue Beatrice
no Virgil to lead us
         through the Elysian fields

Age is upon me
         but I shrug my shoulders
turn a blind eye
         to failing sight
Life is not a matter
         of combustion
it is the exercise
         of the imagination
to take each day
         by the throat
and to be in it
         while there is
still a breath
         and a beating heart
Weather is simply
         a wakeup call
nothing lasts forever
         unless you so desire
and nothing outlasts
         love

John Lyons

Rainfall

irlandesuk poetry

Rainfall

Life as a poet
         a turn of phrase
rain falling
         through the night
seeping deep
         into the soil
the waterlogged lawn
         and the damp
dawn air
         the forces of nature
gathering steam
         underground
for when spring
         will make its assault
upon the earth
         a face renewed
and midwinter
         monotony
overthrown
         It is the beauty
within the process
         the dull green leaves
from within which
         the petals spread
but they are
         the powerhouse
the driving fuse
         the makers of hay
while the sun shines
         even as the birds
bide their time
         and foxes sleep
and love is passed
         from lip to lip

John Lyons

Drifters

irlandesuk poetry

Drifters

We are drifters
           in a drifting crowd
and I have watched you
           watch the stars
and marvel at the depth
           of space around us

Inner and outer space
           the tender silence
that envelops us
           : what will we make
from this darkness
           if not love
and trust
           and fidelity
the enduring need
           for each other

Say that all things
           are grown from seed
including the apple
           of my eye
Say that without love
           life is no big deal
a mystery unworthy
           of our consciousness
Say that love is
           the one thing
that humbles
           and exalts

A rose
           by any other name
but not so love
           The ebb and flow
of all things
           and the constancy
of love : the word
           has no equal
and without it
           wearisome dust

John Lyons

Maresfield Gardens

irlandesuk poetry , ,

Maresfield Gardens

These translucent leaves
           that Freud once knew
no longer have any use
            for this late autumnal light
except to illuminate
           their frail falling beauty
but what a wonderful show it is
           these yellows and coppers
and wafer thin golds
           drifting gently down

Though I go unnoticed
           through the throng
one day I will be a stranger
           to nothing
and that’s the way it should be
           a poet silent
except in my verses
           a believer in words
knowing that if the words fail
           all else will fail too
along with the gifts
           of water and air and light

In an unswept garden
           the litter of leaves
drifting and turning
           in the light wind
and in the centre
           a rose bush
several in fact
           but only one
with a single surviving yellow rose
           and so far from Texas

John Lyons

Lovedust

irlandesuk poetry , , ,

Lovedust

Molecules of dust
         tiny floating particles
specs of nanodust organized
         and clustered
in ever greater complexes
         sidereal dust driven
on boundless waves of energy
         through an apparent
cosmic emptiness
         stardust that next appears
in the full-throated song of the robin
         and the nightingale
in all that flowers in woodlands
         and in our gardens
the dust of stars
         transformed into words
on the page
         and in our ear
that is present
         in every gesture
in every rhythm
         the entire universe
an expression of itself
         call it purpose
call it direction
         call it lovedust

John Lyons

Pandemonium

irlandesuk poetry

Pandemonium

A fierce wind
         caught in the mirror
a frenzy of branches
         lashing out
on this wild night
         a moon almost full
almost avuncular
         in that black sky

I imagine the stars
         going out one by one
and wonder
         who could possibly
be turning them off
          Desire is of the body
and of the mind
         a soothing narrative
except when in conflict
         one against the other

She brought daffodils
         a bouquet of sunlight
and yet in the darkness
         the only light I could see
was there in her eyes
         Someone on the street
was laughing to himself
         such a lonely sound
it seemed to me

The final words
         Charles I muttered
under his breath
         I have no head
for history
         On a night I dreamt
I could not sleep
         I dreamt I slept

John Lyons

Birth

irlandesuk poetry

Birth

Think of the white orchid
         a new flower about to burst
out of the green bud
         as though its petals were wings
to unfold and take flight
         in the imagination
to add one fresh tiny detail
         to the plant and to the room
where it stands
         a newborn thing of beauty
an announcement
         and how our lives
are full of lives
         everywhere teeming
with fresh new life
         and so much life
within life
         within life

John Lyons

Remembering my father

irlandesuk poetry

Remembering my father

All these years
         that you have been gone
your roses have continued to grow
         I do not need to close my eyes
to see you clearly
         your own blue eyes
that retained a shade of sadness
         even when you smiled
that fleeting smile of yours
         from which an ever so slight
hint of pain was never absent
         as though it somehow
pained you to smile
         I remember your creative hands
with which you worked the clay
         and which over the years
became discoloured
         the patches caused by the leakage
of red blood cells into the skin
         I remember the compulsion
with which you constantly
         had to clear your throat
and I remember your silence
         your great love of silence
the silence of which
         you could never get enough
I remember you sitting there
         in your never-ending silence

John Lyons

 

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