Month: Apr 2018

Distant divisions

irlandesuk art, poetry
storm_1
A perfect storm, John Lyons (oil on canvas)

 

Distant divisions

In all modesty
it’s about the words
the words that you lay down
day in day out in verse
the poetry that comes
with your breathing
or from your breath
the particulars of life
that you choose to salute
those events and those feelings
that remain when all else
has been subtracted
what is of importance

As the master said
learn your distances
know your intimacies
confuse neither

the rose you dared to pick
the love you dared to live
the intensity of it all
the here and now of it
that construct of space
within time that you dared
to create for there is risk
in all things that animate
and chance would be
a fine thing if it existed
the question is
do you lead a life
or are you led by it
who is running the show
who decides whether
you live or you die
in truth to yourself

John Lyons

Shooting the breeze

irlandesuk poetry

Shooting the breeze

Life in the particulars
      the magpie bathing
in the cement fountain
      the fox lounging
on the lawn
      sun on the leaves
the stillness of the air
      the sky
an uninterrupted blue
      and in this space
my mind
      the turning over
of thoughts and feelings
      once the child
and all the years
      accumulated
the shaping
      of my sensibility
for what it is worth
      and love
at the heart of it
      what else matters?

John Lyons

Bowling Green

irlandesuk poetry

Bowling Green

Yesterday as I passed
           the bowling green
the smell of cut grass
           under the sunshine
the groundsman with a stick
           prodding the lawn
here and there
           quietly testing the surface

and the quiet days
           of cards and dominoes
will soon be over so I thought
           and men and women
will once more take
           to the green
and the games
           will begin

and between ends
           there will be endless talk
of those who are missing
           those who never returned
after the long winter break
           and the biased balls will roll
in the knowledge that time alone
           calls the ultimate shots

John Lyons

Slow fade

irlandesuk poetry

Slow fade

You received the gift of love
           along with the beauty of roses
and each day the birdsong
           cheered your heart
you knew something
           of the phases of the moon
and the movement of planets
           but the future remained
a mystery and your life
           took its own course
which you followed meekly
           the trees that cast shadows
throughout your childhood
           will outlive you
the oak and sweet chestnut
           the elm and silver birch
and the space that you occupied
           will be filled by another
the river into which
           you cast stones will flow
down to the sea and your time
           will dissolve into a thousand
faded memories
           that few will recall

John Lyons

 

House sparrow

irlandesuk poetry

House sparrow

The humble house sparrow
           measures rarely more
than six inches and weighs
           under a couple of ounces
the females are pale brown
           and grey while the males
have striking black and white
           and brown markings

From Aphrodite to Egyptian glyphs
            to a Palestinian parable
who has ever seen
           a sparrow fall ?

John Lyons

A lone street in Gloucester

irlandesuk poetry

gloucester

A lone street in Gloucester

A lone street in Gloucester
           snow on the road
and piled high
           on the footpaths

To the right a row
           of large clapboard houses
tv aerials on two chimneys
           and in the distance a flag flying
above what might be
           the courthouse

To the left a tall tree
           with bare branches
and a telegraph pole
           from which several
phone lines radiate out
           to the various buildings

At the far end of the street
           two cars and to the left
a man walking
           and ahead of him
another figure
           braced against the cold
possibly a man also
           about to turn a corner

It’s winter in Gloucester
           and nothing’s happening

John Lyons

Rock of ages

irlandesuk poetry ,

Rock of ages

Flint flickers 
                   from the cave 
an infinity concocted
         from inert stone 
the dead history
             of dry leaves 
swept up and cast 
                     onto a futile fire
What outlasts fear
                               hope 
                               all
is the loving heart

Time is a fix
       fixed in time 
               butterfly beauty
and the truth
               hand-held

Time when the eyes
                   were opened
time when with warm lips
         a kiss was taken

Prehistoric juices 
                   drawn from soft berries
dark earth minerals
             ochres and umbers
smeared on the walls 
                               desire 
for the common good
                     all ache 
soothed by love
                   all talk an art
every creation
                a form of love

Words for effect
                       verbal markers 
set against time’s depredations 
               beauty undimmed 
across the ages
                     schooled in love
each thought word and deed
         beyond season 
                             beyond reason

The hunting hand that held
           wild berries
           sun-dried and pounded 
to a charcoal powder
                 earth ochres
and the pigment blown
       over a hand pressed
                         to the cave wall
a negative print
                   Polychromes 
in the Great Hall
                         swathes 
of abstract markings
                   but nothing casual 
                         nothing unpremeditated 
                         nothing unplanned
executed to perfection
                         a steppe bison
perfectly proportioned 
                       its thunderous heart 
still beating
                       its fiery eyes 
peering down at us 
                       across the millennia 
horses    deer    a wild boar

Across the centuries
                     that are 
                             as dried leaves
in the wind
               Time tethered
for all time
                 art that is life’s signature
the personality that defines
                       our humanity
our collective singularity
         the beauty of truth 
and love
             life ennobled

From my lips to your ear
                   what do we know 
of poetry
             other than it is words
for effect 
             or words
                     for special effect
sonnet-shaped
                       odes to time
the flight of a nightingale
             across the ages
undimmed

John Lyons

The Cave of Hands

irlandesuk art, poetry , ,
Cave of Hnads.jpg
Santa Cruz, Argentina

The Cave of Hands

Those hands on the wall
            of the cave in Santa Cruz
Argentina waving to us
            from 9000 years ago
The silhouettes created
            by blowing paint 
through bone-made pipes
            The warmth of these
gestures as if to say
            we were here and we
salute you those of you
            who are to come

John Lyons

Words for an occasion

irlandesuk poetry

Words for an occasion

This is not a world
      in which all things fade
most things don’t
      most things remain
or return from time to time
      feelings for example
love for example
      beauty for example

all that endures
      in time and space
the abiding coordinates
      which hold our existence
in place and bind us to our doing
      the free mind
that roams through
      fields of thought
that sails the seven seas
      of the imagination
rooted in the significances
      we create around us

fleeting flowers are there
      to remind us to keep our nerve
to trust in certain durabilities
      and rich pluralities
to be endlessly inventive
      within our time
and within our space
      and to love naturally 
for all we are worth
      regardless

John Lyons