Let nothing
but leaves
fall in
the forests
of Ukraine
nor in the cities
nor in the ports
Let no boast
of Russian blood
soil the soil
Let the wisdom
of trees prevail
Let peace stifle
war’s angry breath
Let nothing
but leaves
or rose petals
fall on Ukraine
John Lyons
Yellow door, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
Hope in doors
hope in gates
a yellow door
in a sea of blue
soft light of the sun
reverberating
on the surface
all paths lead
to her heart
on both sides
hearts depart
a single plane
a single hope
a single key
key to her heart
John Lyons
Blue door, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
If I told you
If I told
If I told you
would you like it
would you ?
A play not on words
but a play in words
In space words
In time words
If I found them
my feelings
If I found them
and if I told you
If I told
would you like it
would you ?
Played out
in rooms
sitting
dining
bed and
bathroom
One door leads
to another
and another
and another
all our lives
windows and doors
One door
on either side
entrance and exit
coming and going
first to last
If I told you
If I told
If I told you
would you like it
would you ?
John Lyons
(revised)
Green mountain, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
What vanity to imagine
I can give you everything, love and happiness,
itineraries, music, toys.
It’s true this is how it is:
all I have, I give to you, it’s true,
but all I have is not enough for you
just as it’s not enough for you to give me
all you have.
So we’ll never be
the perfect couple, the picture postcard,
if we’re unable to accept
that only in arithmetic
does one plus one make two.
Scribbled on a scrap of paper
that merely says:
You were always my mirror,
What I mean is, I had to look at you to see myself.
And this fragment:
The slow machine of disaffection
the gears of reflux
bodies that abandon the pillows,
the sheets the kisses
and standing before the mirror each one
self-questioning
no longer facing each other
no longer naked for each other
I no longer love you,
my love.
Julio Cortázar
(translation by John Lyons)
Seeds turn
to summer
in silence
despite
the harsh winds
despite the hard
rains
seeds turn
to summer
in silence
green shoots
thrust up through
the damp soil
into the open air
to feed on the light
out of the damp dark earth
sweet pea and nasturtium
marigold and sunflower
calendula and forget-me-not
every colour under the sun
seeds turn
to summer
in silence
the germ of life
the germ of love
all that was buried
will flower again
John Lyons
At night in the forest in Tikal
when it rained, clouds of termites
took shelter in our huts : we had
only candlelight and the insects
blinded by its heartless beauty swirled
around the flaming wicks
Some of these frail creatures
with their long thin paper wings
were instantly singed, and dropped
helplessly onto the table
while others self-immolating
were burnt almost to a cinder
as they smothered
the murderous flame
and in the darkness
in the silence, the dense
whirling cloud flew off
leaving the charred remains
of their dead in the cold
congealed wax
John Lyons
Seed and bulb
sown on the lawns
of yesteryear
to flower
in February to signal
a tentative spring
frail crocuses
whisps of colour
lilac and lavender
purple and cream
here today and gone
tomorrow
in a world
of permanent change
where beauty
is ever present
but never lasts :
only lovers are
dressed for the
counteroffensive
All hail!
John Lyons
Night dance, John Lyons (70 x 50 cm, oil on canvas)
After hours
light fading
lone dancer
bounds across
the stage
Carnival masquerade
in a Venetian palace
Slow drift of time
through cloistered
canals : lovers cross
the Bridge of Sighs
Que será será
Que será será
John Lyons
Energy runs
downhill
that’s the law :
hot things cool
and engines
run out of steam
sooner and later
are part of
the narrative
my first letters
were shaped
using a stick
of chalk on slate
before I was
bumped
onto graphite
and paper
sooner and later
ARE
the narrative
behold the moth
behold the dust
left in the wake
of woodworm
One day
the entire sun
will be
cosmic dust
Where is Flora
the beautiful
Roman flower ?
Where Abelard
and Heloise ?
Dust
John Lyons
The dark side of coffee, John Lyons
It could after all
have been
blades of grass
rather than leaves
the cutting edge
of poetry
in a brave new world
Love is child’s play
innocent as the day
is long : and a poem
is so many words
immersed in silence
as Gertrude said
it’s a meeting place
where everything
is on the table
so bring your appetites
All I know is that
when I said
what I meant
I meant
what I said
You are no flower
you are no blossom
no alabaster neck
no peachy skin
you are the flesh
of my blood
the blood
of my flesh
my love incarnate
Look to the heavens
I have counted the stars
all present and correct
nothing dies forever
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 