Fragrant flower
of the earth
supple mineral mistress
that rises up
out of the cold-blown
loveless dust
The burst bud
from which
the petals unfold
seeking nothing
but admiration
ignorant of the thorns
she bears
Blood-red
or pale-white
her most emblematic
colours : time
her most mortal enemy
oblivion
her greatest fear
John Lyons
In a poem of love
there are feathers and fish
and roses and butter
and slow-burning candles
there are tables and chairs
and a sky made of rain
and curtains to be drawn
and sunshine over the horizon
in a poem of love
it is summer and winter
and beaches and sandals
and today and tomorrow
and happily ever after
and blushes and kisses
and words made of silence
and naturally we celebrate
and swim in the mountains
and sweet as a baby
and tall as a castle
in a poem of love
there is time and again
and bells gently ringing
and Saturdays and Sundays
and moons to be baking
and an alphabet of promises
and sharp needles for mending
in a poem of love
there are paintings and photos
and pearls made of wisdom
and sonnets for reading
and beds for the lying
and pleasures for sharing
and songs for beginning
and streets never ending
John Lyons
Cosmic ash drifting
through the universe
and that special light
in Venice
in which the artists
caught a glimpse of heaven
a composite of glorious colour
every square inch adorned
and the words that survive
: layer upon layer of faith
in the promise
of rewards to come
and the art
a bulwark against
falsehood and betrayal
trust and steadfast belief
beauty and truth
chiselled into stone
or worked
into precious metals
an artist’s honesty
valued for all time
love of life and of love
honoured in all ways
John Lyons
et les mots qui survivent
: couche après couche de foi
dans la promesse
de récompenses à venir
et l’art un rempart contre
le mensonge et la trahison
inébranlables
la conviction et la confiance
la beauté et la vérité
ciselées dans la pierre
ou travaillées
en métaux précieux
l’honnêteté d’un artiste
appréciée pour toujours
l’amour de la vie et de l’amour
honorés de toutes les manières
Colours, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
I tie and I untie I give and I refuse
I create and I destroy I adore and I punish
My flower is thought I caress and I sow
I see with my fingers I touch and I understand
From Paul Éluard, Perspectives (1948)
Je noue et je délie je donne et je refuse
Je crée et je détruis j’adore et je punis
Ma fleur est la pensée je caresse et je sème
je vois avec mes doigts je touche et je comprends
Slow drizzle
of time
of memory –
light grey rain
at the window
a confusion
of blackbirds
and magpies
in the air
and settling
here and there
your wild hair
thinner than ever
sleek silver threads
and around the eyes
the years marked
in soft lines
your thoughts
awkward –
clumsy recollections
of a moment
when you knew
that it was love
his words
his touch
his laughter
his love of life
his love of you
and how you
betrayed it all
for the shallow
promise
of fool’s gold
John Lyons
Down by Putney Bridge
slow day descending
into darkness –
river high
but not unduly
temperature falling
but not that cold –
late joggers
back and forth
ducks and geese
on the causeway –
first lights of evening
I watch the waters flow
I think of you
your one betrayal
after another
John Lyons
Words are not love
just as leaves
are not autumn
dismissive gestures
and empty smiles
as the questions
tumble one by one
between your world
and my world
there is a world
of a difference
I too have crossed
Brooklyn Bridge
in the blazing heat
of a distant summer
dust upon my shoes
and city grime
etched into my collar
you were a shape once
you were a sense
you were a direction
full of promise
now nothing but words
sounds corralled
into a meaningless grid
of petrified ambition
John Lyons
Parksville NY, John Lyons (30 x 25 cm, oil on canvas)
Just after the dawn dust
had settled
after the larks had risen
into the vacant sky
I chanced upon
this fork in the road
a yellow wheat field
and in the distance
the deep dense green
of ancient woodland
and who knows
where a road might lead
or what awaits us in our day-to-day
as we make our way
along paths known or unknown
how for better or worse
a random choice may change
a life forever
John Lyons
Text revised
johnjosephlyons 