Year: 2018

Watchers of the skies

irlandesuk poetry ,

Watchers of the skies

Watchers of the skies
           we look for planetary movements
that may herald better times
           bringing peace and consolation
to our loveless lives
           and so alleviate the turmoil
in our thankless day to day
           a benevolent moon
to announce
           the entrance of joy
into our favoured house
           our hopes in the ascendant
and a firmament filled
           with the sweet conjunction
of heavenly bodies
           aligned in perfect harmony

John Lyons

The lie of the land

irlandesuk poetry

The lie of the land

How silence may be
           the absence of all sound
or the absence of words
           a moment of peace or of tension
of loving or longing
           perhaps thoughtful
perhaps empty and endless
           the topographies of silence
how silent the beauty
           of the rose or of the heather
when it is in full bloom
           in the hills outside Dingle

And so to footsteps
           words that follow
in the footsteps of others
           paths of meaning
stepping from one word
           to another
stepping stones
           along life’s trails
my father’s words
           my mother’s
words for no reason
           other than
that they need to be spoken
           or to be withheld
as befit the silence
           they inhabit

I play on words
           I play with words
I make believe words
           in this make-believe world
this world of words
           and love too
is a make-believe word
            its syntax follows
the lie of the land
           the lay of the heart

John Lyons

The wisdom of owls

irlandesuk poetry

The wisdom of owls

O for the wisdom of owls
           who keep their counsel
minding no other business
           than their own and
silent but for the heavy slap
           of their wings on the night air
silent except for the times
           when their nests are under threat
silent except for the times
           when they choose to sing

John Lyons

In time’s sad passing

irlandesuk poetry , ,

In time’s sad passing

Drove from Bray
           down to Wicklow
a thick coat of snow
           lying across the land
heaped high on the sides
           of the road and in smaller piles
perched precariously
           on the branches of trees

Winter had turned this part
           of the emerald isle white
so that the sheep
           in the rolling hills
were hard to distinguish
           from the ground they trod

I knew that my aunt
           whom I’d left hours earlier
in a hospital bed in Tralee
           would be gone before
the next spring came
           and the landscape
reappeared in full bloom
           I thought of the thin veins
on her hands and her forehead
           visible through the pale skin
and I recalled the shallow breath
           that softened her voice
so that she seemed already
           to have become half shadow
and yet her sharp blues eyes
           were as full of life as ever

John Lyons

 

A fork in the road

irlandesuk poetry

A fork in the road

The stars are our footlights
           in this world of performance
in which gongs rattle
           bells ring out
and there is much sitting
           and standing and walking
and being still until
           stillness is all

Time is dimension and box
           the roses in the vase
on the table
           along with the silver service
awaiting the guests
           for the ceremony to begin
We have made a home
           out of habit and language

The mind says be minimum
           the tongue says be quiet
as we advance naked
           into the light and passion
is an empty promise
           a counterfeit doubloon
pressed into the palm
           and so the river runs
through the city shapes
           where we circulate

I have a bundle of tunes
           under my arms
a veritable sheaf of poems
           but will I survive 
the hostilities of the curtain
           and will love in the end
shape up or suffer
           as the poet says
surfeit of dust
           and surcease of the bone

Words then
           two-a-penny
the tired old drays
           that plod the streets
their hooves stumbling
           at every fissure
and night after night
           the serenade that mounts
monotone into the darkness
           in which trembling hands fumble
as they attempt to unbutton
           the truth that lies beneath the lies

John Lyons

End of the affair

irlandesuk poetry ,

End of the affair

How many dawns
           did we wake to sunshine
and to the chill fresh air
           down by the river
In my thoughts
           you are everywhere
you are your very likeness
           but there is within you
a hidden voice that is distracted
           that reaches for words
but cannot find them
           Love you say
flies on faded wings
           it has no meaning
once you surrender
           to your mirrored fate
and so your heart tears
           into thin strips
the linen of your soul
           rent to tatters

The bridge was a monument
           to tenderness
to boldness
           a place to defend
with your life
           should you so desire
but in darkness you prefer
           to fritter away your tears
and to make your mouth
           absent from mine

And so silence
           that arises from the calm
slop of sleep
           and caprice has done
your destiny to death
           in dishonoured time

So be it
           loveless there is no joy
indecisive
           you serve no one
not even yourself
           and all that you have
to give and to share
           goes unspent

John Lyons

 

The fine threads of life

irlandesuk poetry

The fine threads of life

In the rose garden
           the blooms have faded :
the very sun that fed their growth
           has led them to their last days
fresh flowers will come again
           in late July or early August
it’s just a matter of time
           and of that universal process

how all things rise
           and all things fall
how life is followed by death
           and death by life
how we too rise up from birth
           and grow tall in love and beauty
before death cuts us down
           country style

These are the days
           never forget

John Lyons

 

The idea of justice

irlandesuk poetry

The idea of justice

The idea of justice
           is not justice
just as the idea
           of beauty

out into the sunshine
           knowing that the sun
brings forth beauty
           even as it fades it
and all that blooms
           is doomed to dust
the truth too
           may wither
and now
           is never enough

on the shore
           there are pebbles
and the sea
           is foaming

who will cast
           the first stone ?

 

John Lyons

Intimacies of time

irlandesuk poetry

Intimacies of time

Think of my far self
of the distance covered

isles of experience
days of darkness and light

nights of hope and love
and the words in which

I have placed my faith
words that have kept me

company : faithful stars
in my inner firmament

John Lyons

Vienna’s past participles

irlandesuk poetry

Vienna’s past participles

The lesson is
            that we are all history
history in the making
            and that one day
we will be history
            our acts finally over
and our achievements
            hung out to dry

Empires fall
            and the palaces and gardens
become curiosities
            the days of grandeur long over
the vast imperial buildings
            with their tall colonnades
and endless emblems
            of power and authority
are empty relics
            of the past

and everywhere you go
            classical white statues depicting
every imaginable motif
            creating a mythic atmosphere
and it is as though
            it was all intended to recreate
a past in which once upon a time
            it might have been noble to live

John Lyons