Sonata, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
The painting is the puzzle
the painting is the journey
the painting is the gateway
a way in and a way out
the painting is a process
inchoate incomplete
perhaps never to be
finitely finished but simply
jettisoned out through the door
and into the outer world
John Lyons
Everything is there
in the poems
and in the paintings
and in the small
wooden sculptures
and in my silence
I have nothing more
to say on the subject
no clever definitions
no neat explanations
I am fascinated by
the stealthy growth of trees
and by the secret destinations
of swallows and angels
I prefer to be in love
rather than not
but sorry to say I have
nothing else to add
John Lyons
Inferno, John Lyons (paper collage)
Let’s describe this
as a cauldron of colour
light and energy
bubbling away
soft pinks and blood reds
with dark clouds
gathering at the rear
the ragged edges
of torn paper laid
on a bed of white card
one day collaged
upon another and so
the picture builds up
could be a fiery heaven
or an icy hell
a state of mind
or simply an outburst
of activity
But where
you may ask
are the people ?
where is there
anything familiar ?
it’s all feeling
but feeling for what ?
a life consumed
as a smokeless fuel
moments of anger
moments of passion
arterial moments of love
John Lyons
This welcome rain
for which the earth
has so long thirsted
the dust it will dissolve
and drain away
leaving the streets
refreshed and the grass
greener and the trees
in the ancient woodland
majestically resplendent
Each day is a page turned
in this life-script
and sometimes I marvel
at the distance I have travelled
since I sang as a child
and gathered chestnuts
in autumns past
and such a long time
in which to grow old
in my young heart
A frame a time frame
in which to fit
a pretty picture
cheekbones and long
flowing sable hair
and hazel eyes
a breathless beauty
and however much love
a man and woman can live
and never tire
John Lyons
The lie of the land, John Lyons (9 x 13 cm collage)
This is what it’s like
to be caught
in the warp and weft
of being
the fabric of our existence
We have needs
beyond our means
dreams that may be
dashed
and we fear above all
the loss of love
Our lives are filled
with equipment and devices –
so many things we no longer
know how to do for ourselves
our homes have become
territories which we guard
with our lives
we have become investments
and pander to so many idols
blinding ourselves
to the work of angels
who move constantly among us
Perfection is there
in the webs of spiders
in nature’s silk
in the beauty of roses
or the soaring flight
of sparrowhawks
But there are no vacancies
in the natural world
and none need apply
creation has its work to do
its solar systems to build
while we are tasked
with something quite simple
merely to love and
to allow ourselves
to be loved
John Lyons
Gateway to love, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
Sometimes the best poetry
for the moment is composed
of silence : just as sparrows
do not sing all day long
a pause a respite a lull
is always welcome
rather than
a glut or an excess
Broad margins
of white space
a huge empty sky
blue by all accounts
waves of transparent air
shifting imperceptibly
a kind of nothingness
of fulfilment
What I want to tell you
is. . .
but it can wait
just allow me to be
the one beside you
basking in your beauty
loving you wordlessly without
so much as a sigh
John Lyons
Once in a while
a story within a story
a life within a life
with leaves falling
and wet pavements
and early morning mists
and the memory of chestnuts
roasted over an open fire
and how long it takes
to be a year
with so much hope
Once in a while
all is well with the world
and things fall into place
and the time is ripe
and nobody notices
the passing hours
and here is a bridge
crossing the river Seine
where on a summer’s day
we paused
and held each other
in a gentle embrace
Once in a while
there is not much further
to go before nightfall
and contentment is the order
of the day and we are pleased
with ourselves
and what we have achieved
the pleasures we have taken
the short and the long
and not a chance missed
and love is as endless
as a piece of string
John Lyons
Seen from my window
a dragonfly and
a cabbage white
both aimless drifters
in the early autumn sun –
they know that winter
is coming they sense it
in their bones
in the state of play
around them and
there appears to be
an urgency in their flight
a desire perhaps to make
the last of the hay
while the sun shines
the best of it at least
Today is Tuesday
and as good a day
as any to live it up –
whatever time means
to these creatures
there are still only
twenty-four hours in a day
and the difference
a day makes may be
between life and death
John Lyons
I put my back into it
have done so for years
as long as I can remember
I am a poet by the seat
of my pants a verbal
construction worker
I keep my eyes peeled
my job being to notice
and to say what I see
and to make sense
of my senses
Am I always sure
of where I’m heading ?
No
I feel my way through life
I lay myself open
and I have known
joy and pain and have
learnt to distinguish
one from the other
Sometimes the poetry
is in the detail
a robin a sparrow
and angel on the street corner
sometimes it’s
in the moment
a kiss a birth
On most days I go
for the low hanging fruit
occasionally I excel myself
very occasionally
when I reach for the heights
Every number is a fragment
of infinity and so I live the life –
in my heart there’s always room
for more love
Poetry is for those who have
time on their hands
John Lyons
What lifts the grey day
out of sadness
is the beauty of thought
of word or of deed
the beauty that is inherent
in being or what poets call
beauty’s beauty
the sheer breath of life
the pure flesh of a face
that smiles and utters
words of love
womb-innocent children
whose thirst for knowledge
is in itself endless adventure
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 