Surely among an old man’s memories
there should be recollections
of the long nights of love he spent
in his younger days when the world
was new and the stars had lost
none of their brilliance
and the streams teamed with trout
and the roses seemed never to die
when he would wake to sweetness
to gentleness to light – content
at every turn of his dreams
the solid architecture of his life
built upon the unerring
beauty of her heart
John Lyons
Stippled freckled
flecked dappled
such is the skin
with which I’ve lived
all these years
and proudly so
and age has brought
fresh blotches blemishes
that I prefer to call
the spoils of experience
spring chicken no longer
now more akin
to the speckled hen
in another creation
I might have been
a handsome spotted thrush
with over one hundred
melodic phrases
to my name: but who am I
to speculate as to
what might have been
John Lyons
Landshape 2, John Lyons (70 x 50 cm, oil on canvas)
A painter poet
struggles to convey
the lie of the land
in which certain shapes
dominate and others
are pushed
into the background
I know that I have been here
but can’t remember when
I have dreamt of snow
on the hills and triangles
that rose up beyond the lakes
I have walked for miles
as I slept and passed
through so many doors
What I searched for
was breath and pulse
a warmth and a gentleness
a softness of being
a firmness of ground
beneath my feet
green pastures
John Lyons
