Year: 2018

An abstract life

irlandesuk art, poetry
abstract life
Abstract life, John Lyons  (oil on canvas)

An abstract life

Here in this stormy canvas
           are elements of my life
the deep earth colours
           from which I emerged
with streaks of green
           and yellow and orange
and a crimson patch
           of the blood I have given
to my art and poetry :
           out of raw sienna
and umber a narrative
           of lamp black and Prussian
blue and swathes of white
           that represent steadfast
love and hope in the midst
           unseasonal chaos

John Lyons

Oils on water

irlandesuk art, poetry ,
Oils on water
Oils on water, John Lyons

Oils on water

What I love
           about this detail
from a recent canvas
           is the way the colours
in the foreground
           appear to be floating
on water or on ice :
           it could be a pond
or a stretch of canal
           frozen over such as
on Thursday
           up by Ladbroke Grove
when I saw two swans
           that were wondering
where to go with ice
           all around them
and seemingly
           no way out

John Lyons

Fruit of the flesh

irlandesuk poetry

Fruit of the flesh

Time itself is not change
           nor does wisdom
come with age :
           the fine powdery snow
blowing at our window
           will not settle
it will be gone tomorrow
           though today
we find ourselves
           landlocked
trapped within a moment
           within the taut dimensions
of our own making
           and with decisions
on the tip
           of the tongue

Last night not a peep
           from the foxes
snugly buried
           in their burrows
the quiet universe
           a soundstage
for our words
           stars falling
in icy fragments
           and always
the question of love
           fruit of the flesh
and what if anything
            we will make of it

John Lyons

Reposted from yesterday with corrections

 

Hope against hope

irlandesuk poetry

Hope against hope

Yes I feel the cold
           on my cheeks
my feet are frozen
           inside my boots
and though wrapped up
           as well as I can be
I am still slightly
           shivering

But this winter weather
           will soon pass and these days
will be forgotten along with
           all the other days
we have forgotten
           even though there were
some we swore we would
           never forget

The snow lying thickly
           has simplified the landscape
reduced it to its essentials
           trees and houses and roads
and fields with here and there
           a hungry fox in a back garden

But the snow will soon melt
           and the earth once again
will be revealed in all its glory
           and therein lies my hope

John Lyons

Rainbow trout

irlandesuk poetry ,

Rainbow trout

A rainbow trout moving
           between the large stones
that lie in the shallow waters
           by the river bank
It darts here and there
           as my shadow falls
across the idle stream
           but it does not disappear
perhaps it is playing a game
           sees me but is not afraid
perhaps a challenge
           a catch-me-if you can
knows I’m not a kingfisher
           just a man with a rod
and a hook and a fly
           on the end of a line

Light made its body
           just as it made
the fishing bird
           and many of the colours
they share : unlike us
           who grow up so many
and from a common model
           so distinctively diverse

The trout moves gently
           through the water
flexing a body that acts
           as a single muscular pulse
confident in its strengths
           disdainful of all else
Fins for feathers
           and in its element it knows
that more often than not
           it can outwit whoever
whatever would try
           to catch it out

John Lyons

Simplicities

irlandesuk poetry

Simplicities

Star-patterned snow
has fallen across the universe

through the dark night it fell
flake upon flake covering the land

and in its wake it has brought
peace and silence and for a time

a certain subdued solidarity
slowing as it always does

the frantic pace of life
the rushing to and fro

snow has fallen in the cities
and on the hills and in the woods

and has levelled parks and gardens
and all the wide playing fields

there is a lesson to be learnt
from the simplicities of snow

John Lyons

He who loved

irlandesuk poetry

He who loved

He who loved
the soft-petalled rose

would bear the pain
of thorns to nurture them

would shelter them
in times of frost

would nourish the soil
in which they stood

and could sit for hours
in silent admiration

of their summer blooms :
he who loved

John Lyons

A note to Orpheus

irlandesuk poetry ,

A note to Orpheus

When the wind rises
           the tree sings
with the rustle
           and tremor of leaves
and as the wind subsides
           so the music is lost
to stillness to silence :
           then birds congregate
in its branches
           and the tree becomes
a temple to their song
           the tree that so longed
to possess a voice
           provides a haven
a home for these
           visiting choristers

And a tree knows
           that music is as much
about silence as it is
           about sound
it is about the interplay
           between notes and rests
between the black
           and the white and
between life and death
           all on a stave

John Lyons

The surface of things

irlandesuk poetry ,

The surface of things

The beautiful surface of things
           life in all its infinite detail
and in all its glory
           the capacity to articulate
to put two and two together
           the chalk hills
of the North Downs
           at present covered
in pure white snow
           where pure white lambs
will graze unknowingly
           in days to come in spring

the rich hue and cry of life
           lived and held
in the conscious mind
           assembled in our language
a world built word by word
           and recalled word for word
just as our love grows
           accumulating acts of affection
mutual and stored
           in the necessary memory
of living words :
           there was a wedding feast
at which the water
           became wine and filled
the imagination
           as all art does in changing
the face of the earth
           in its becoming

John Lyons

Enough is enough

irlandesuk art, poetry
Hard_rain_detail
Hard rain, John Lyons (oil on canvas)

 Enough is enough

I can’t wait
           for spring to come
for the bitterness
           of this winter to be over
to see flowers in the fields
           and red roses in bloom
in the garden
           with fresh lavender
in the borders
           and to hear the buzz
of bees doing
           what they know best
collecting the fresh nectar
           that one day soon
I will spread on a slice
           of warm toast
and thank God that I’m
           still alive to enjoy it

John Lyons