Soon forgotten

Soon forgotten

No reason to be sad
           take it like a man
on the chin
           betrayals
are two-a-penny
           and almost always
a blessing in disguise
           and history will soon
forget her
           whoever she was

John Lyons

 

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In the still fading day

In the still fading day

In the still fading day
           rain is falling
falling still
           into the earth
into the intricate roots
           of the mighty oak and elm
I’ve known since I was a child
           their bare black boughs
thrusting eagerly today
           into dull grey air

Down by the river
           through a dense thicket
I see a kingfisher
           resting on a branch
unaware of my presence
           and by the water’s edge
two voles playing catch
           if catch can
living the life of endless
           innocent time

In the still fading day
           rain is falling
falling still
           and a love lurks
in that corner of my heart
           that longs to understand
what cannot be understood
           and I splash cadmiums
random reds yellows and blue
           on a drum-taut canvas
and the rain is falling still
           still falling rain

John Lyons

Sunday in Montparnasse

Sunday in Montparnasse

A gentle Sunday stroll along
the Boulevard Montparnasse

stopping for coffee in La Coupole
before cutting across into

the Jardin du Luxembourg
where we sat for a while and

watched the families passing by
the sound of children’s laughter

and of the gravel under their feet
Life was so simple that day

and love too— or so it seemed
when the sun shone on us

John Lyons

The delight in human being

JP_imitation
Reproduction, John Lyons (oil on canvas)*

The delight in human being

To live in love’s timeless space
           that thrives
in the sweet innocence of the day
           that feasts on
the blessed miracle of air
           that delights
in the touching tasting hearing saying
           of human flesh
that carries its impenitent uprooted soul
           with humble pride
through the long descending hours
           until with breathful thrusts
it may penetrate the undying ecstasies
           of the night

John Lyons


*The 40 cm x 40 cm canvas is my largest to date

In the keen pure silence

In the keen pure silence

In the keen pure silence
           I trudge home
as the evening slumps into night
           pieces of the city
still lodged in my mind
           another day
and then another
           and nothing changes

I look up at the sky
           that womb of darkness
out of which time
           and light were born
one time two times
           so many times over
the stars of life and of death
           that blossom into extinction
although their light lingers on
           beyond the grave
just as nothing ever goes
           into never 
just as love only ever has been
           only ever will be

John Lyons

 

A primrose a mayflower

A primrose a mayflower

A primrose a mayflower
           a new time and place
a happening of the heart
           in my altered circumstance
Now that the temperature
           has dropped what I long for
is the whisper of a new world
           and an open hand to beckon me
an open mind to embrace me
           no longer to be merely a maybe
Time has me by the neck
           I want it to cease and desist
to put the black cat
           back in the bag for now

John Lyons

Pity poor flesh

Pity poor flesh

Pity poor flesh
           pity poor stars and stones
pity poor world
           of war and enmity
pity the lion and the forest
           and the schools of children
doomed to a fading life
           pity poor love and lip
that struggles to express
           the heart’s true desires
seeking solace in the size
           of a shoe and bag
and a dress cut to ribbons
           Pity poor flesh
in its daily dalliance
           with kingdom-come death
and made-to-measure
           madness

John Lyons