Author: irlandesuk

Almond trees

irlandesuk poetry

Almond trees

In early September this Andalusian soil
           in which these almond trees stand
is friable and dry as a bone
           their branches have been
clipped and stripped
           of their fruit and foliage

Marshalled in their rugged groves
           these neighbours are condemned
to stand two metres apart
           and so separated
by an infinitely sad
            and withering silence

Yet come the New Year
           this entire terrain
will be swathed in a soft blanket
           of pink and white blossom
as new life surges through
           the wiry willowy branches

John Lyons

Speculation

irlandesuk poetry

Speculation

Process and discovery
       learning and adaptation
a lifetime spent
       never really knowing
who we are
       or who we were meant to be
using language as the principal
       tool of investigation
using feelings
       as the ultimate sounding board

How hard to know one’s self
        let alone another
let alone the otherness
        of those we love
Who is to say
       that we even occupy
the same time and space

I heard the whirring wings
       of a wasp around my head
around my hand
       that did not sting me
but provided in a sense
       a wakeup call as though
it had been a messenger
       from another plane or reality

Love lived on the lip
       trusting in the unknowable
desiring to be an intimate part
       of another being’s mystery
to make and share a body of love
       built up from fragments
of truth and beauty
       and pleasure and acceptance
of our own imperfections
       a union of purpose
intention at the heart of it
       the whisper of promissory words
that should be carved in stone
       for all time

John Lyons

John Ashbery

irlandesuk poetry

John Ashbery

Thinking about John Ashbery’s eyes
that intense stare from every photo

those ever-vigilant painterly eyes
that see or saw everything

in the most minute detail
that never miss or missed a thing

that never sleep :
and the mind behind those eyes

constantly striving to fit
the right words to the right thing

creating a poetic order
of the first order

John Lyons

Torremendo

irlandesuk poetry ,

Torremendo

This land is parched
dry sandy soil underfoot
here and there a fig tree
amid row after row of walnut

Lower down the hillside
a small plot
with fifteen pomegranates
heavy with fruit
and the sound of crickets
insistent incessant

Two large hares
lope off into the distance
three hawks circle
above the scrubland

The remains
of a small construction
barely a stone
left upon stone

Here Geronimo
lived and worked
all his life
knew little else

John Lyons

Poetics

irlandesuk poetry

Poetics

Out of sea foam
love formed
not a word
not a notion
but a home
for life

roses fade
and die
not love
it persists

paradise is a person
and a shared path
never to be taken
for granted

John Lyons

Autumn 2

irlandesuk poetry

Autumn 2

After early morning rain
           a short walk through the woods
summer on the cusp
           the pitter patter of acorns
raining down
           and then suddenly
the distinctive ra-ta-tat-tat
           of a woodpecker :
its beak beating on the bark
           in search of a grub

I gaze up at the dense green canopy
           but cannot see a thing : pitter patter
ra-ta-tat-tat : pitter patter
           ra-ta-tat-tat

John Lyons

Autumn

irlandesuk poetry

Autumn

After the early morning rain
           a short walk
through the woods
           on the cusp of autumn
and all around
           acorns raining down
pitter patter pitter patter
           pitter patter pitter patter

then all of a sudden
           comes the distinctive
ra-ta-tat ra-ta-ta-tat
           of a woodpecker :
its beak beating the bark
           ra-ta-tat ra-ta-ta-tat

I gaze up
           at the dense green foliage
but can’t see a thing
           Ra-ta-tat ra-ta-ta-tat
ra-ta-tat ra-ta-ta-tat
           pitter patter pitter patter

John Lyons