Light travels at such a speed
to us it seems static
and through the waters
a carp swims swiftly
but we catch the glimmer
of its scales
or the trout moving
through a stream
that summer in Kilkenny
ripples of sunlight
drifting across
the river surface
All things move
and our emotions too
movements of the heart
one towards another
and we call that
love
John Lyons
When lost for words
I reach for the poets
Charles Olson
or François Villon
luminous words
scrawled on paper
genius is almost always low tech
it comes in flashes
in aperçus
in fleeting moments of insight
All that has been
suddenly is : time
is the face of recognition
where are the loves
of yesteryear
the snowfields of yore ?
Each of us has
our own unique antiquity
some die in their bed while others
swing from hallowed gallows
Notre Dame
a place of visitation
a monument to belief
in the resurrected spirit
John Lyons
I have picked a path
through the day
and now that the sun is setting
I sit here wallowing
in the afterglow
light softly fading
as time settles down
for the night
Within what memories
I have lived these hours past
of moments and places
and feelings that can never
be relinquished
down by the silent river
or along those dusty streets
where nothing ever changes
where nothing will ever
be the same again
John Lyons
Sometimes
when preparing
a canvas
it’s best
just to allow
the basic geometries
of energy and colour
to take over
not to overthink
the composition
In this canvas
the paint has been
thinly applied
at first with a brush
before being marshalled
by the palette knife
The blank page
and the blank canvas
have so much in common :
the rule is simple
don’t hang back
if it doesn’t work out start again
but don’t get uptight
Sometimes she loves you
sometimes she does not
Get over it
John Lyons
Remove the safety net
when you tread the high wire
said Parmigianino
paint fearlessly
peer through the mist
capture what lies behind
what lies beneath :
your heart as mirror
to the soul you establish
on canvas
John Lyons
Reposted with a corrected text and a sharper photo of canvas.
How to face the mirror
each day
and know what has
and what hasn’t been done
With a razor
I cut away the shadow
leaving the skin
clean as a whistle
I notice around the eyes
a few lines are forming
and another deeper one
bisects my forehead
when I frown
I try not to frown
but life as you know
can be a little testing
at times
so I write
and I paint without
any particular talent
and one day drips
into another
and every morning
it’s the same old face
confronting me
in the mirror
John Lyons
One to another
separate
but each seen
in the other’s eyes
the face read
observed
listened to
each expression
traced and mined
for signs of love
for its affirmation
recognition of feelings
of commitment
the delicate need
to be one and both
more than the convergence
of skin and breath
a shared form or way of life
within the big picture
the smallest of gestures
that accumulate
that act upon love
absolute and lyrical
innocent and just
measured in startime
bathed in beauty
lustrous truth
of the material spirit
John Lyons
Revised text
Air moves in arabesques
time in hot pursuit
a centrifugal force that runs
through the blood
Possibilities are endless
in this life-phase
in the rising fall of love-tides
in which doors are binary
windows looking glasses
dreams itinerant
Swirls of colour
on the canvas
but soon the leaves
will settle
Today the sun rose
higher than ever
it stopped the fox
in its tracks
it changed the tune
of every bird
as its warm breath
passed over the land
Breakers on the seashore
ruffle the pebbles
and suck at the sand :
there’s always more work
to be done and more love
to be made
John Lyons
Revised text
Amid the chaos
amid the brash cacophony
an essential silence
at the centre of our being
in those moments
when the self is nursed
by the natural world
by observation
of all those rhythms
that echo those of our blood
the play of light on water
the movement of tall trees
that dance in the breeze
To them we owe life’s breath
and the beauty of autumn umbers
Every artistic gesture
dating back to the origins of time
is an act of love
the essence of the universe
is invention
John Lyons
A turn of the head
a turn of phrase
your turn my turn
a turn of the screw
you know this love thing
can be torture
she inherited
her mother’s furs
the mink in her eyes
turned many a head
a photoelectric smile
her nicely turned ankles
danced on life’s stage
if love is not what you
bargained for beware
we accept no returns
light leaps
through the galaxy
it feeds our every gesture
thoughts come in a flash
and a kiss is a meeting
of minds
honesty and generosity
are the guarantee
of good returns
on your love
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 