Trash, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, mixed media on canvas)
Trash
garbage
the faded flowers
of friendship
heaped in a pile
of sweepings
of yesterday’s news
to which everyone
turns a blind eye
as though
it never happened
forgotten smiles
kisses consigned
to ancient history
who lives by the sword
dies by the word
John Lyons
Débris, John Lyons (40 x 40, mixed media on canvas)
The fact is that we grow into our age
a generation among generations
perhaps the flesh tires but the soul never
the spirit that drives us forward
the pursuit not of intellect but of love
whatever lights a fire under our emotions
From conception to birth to our passing
the cycle is relentless and justly so –
no rose or magpie aspires to immortality
though wild salmon run the rapids
to perpetuate their nameless lineage
The day is there for us to behold
the moments for us to savour the delights
of breath and feel the pulse of life
coursing through our veins : a gentle kiss
is all it takes to lift us up to heaven
John Lyons
Pale rags of cloud
sweep across
the pale morning sky
pearl grey day
yet to be infused
with light
A single magpie
waits for others
to join it in its play
in the background
the desultory song
of thrush and robin
my mind a haze
of broken dreams
a spidery web
of disconnected
thoughts and feelings
In all these years
the ragged elms
have barely changed
those that witnessed
my birth : from winter frosts
to summer storms
they’ve weathered it all
Time stretches out
its ragged horizon
: roses and daffodils
and autumn leaves
the measure of me
love another — times
I met a fair wind
and a warm heart
John Lyons
When calm and quiet
I step into the past
Childhood is as
Another room
Open the door
Cross the threshold
On gentle tiptoes
Watch the characters
Interact as through
A curtain as light
As a butterfly wing
They make you laugh
Sometimes cry
Always longing for
A glance
A gentle touch
A nod of acknowledgement
A brief respite from
What is today
What has to be
Faced, dealt with
Fixed
Renewed, refreshed
To go on.
Molly Rosenberg
How gently she moves
through my mind
an image without words
a fleeting presence
and how the quiet returns
in moments of respite
Who among us
has never loved in vain
has never fought
for a cause that was
doomed to failure or turned
an eager hand
for it to come
to naught
But there is no pain
in the imagining
or when we shake down
the dust of distant days
Our dreams our hopes
wind in circles that recur
old tunes rattled out
on an ageing gramophone
the long-legged flies
that scuttled across
the shallow pond’s
smooth summer surface
our lives a convoluted
race against time
and all the while obsessed
with truth and beauty
a lonely face that flashed
before my eyes
a whisper barely heard
before it dies
John Lyons
Upon Troy’s battlements
I will not say
that the cards dealt
were marked
or that such were
the merciless stars
that shone upon
those dark nights
when I struggled
to find my path
my soul
in the stillness
in the morning silence
broken only
by voice of thrush
and sparrow and
cooing dove
I stand by my choices
and the consequences
thereof
and look to the future
my body yet to collapse
into wrack and ruin
my desire to love
and be loved intact
Today I hold
my hand to the fire
hell has no mysteries
it is heaven that eludes
or provokes with promises
of rude passion to tempt
our tender flesh
into submission
or beguiles us with
crude images of beauties
that stalk the flaming
battlements of Troy
John Lyons
No emptiness
in the heavens
Symmetries of space
of time and place
Are thoughts not
from the stars ?
Are words not too
and love and all things
that engage our affections ?
Body and soul conjoined
inseparable from birth
and you among us
with your beauty
with your bounty
we are but clouds
you rise from
John Lyons
History – dead time
a past buried
in a chromatic wilderness
a burnt match floating
in a greasy pool
of rainwater
an old hair
on an old pillow case
Be minimum
with your words
in your actions
resolve to move forward
to write new texts
in a world
of warmth and affection
the past is scribble
of fret and fear and fate
beyond absolution
Be minimum
cut to the quick
courage and conviction –
angels will appear
on the edge of night
by day they will mingle
with crows and sparrows
foxes will pay allegiance
She who is not worthy
will lose her way
be lost forever –
exercise discretion
: in the forgetting
there is forgiveness –
be minimum
say no more
John Lyons
As the fire blazed
in the mouth of the cave
pigments were mixed
and applied to the walls
the deer and antelope admired
and keenly observed
and hunted for food
: art in order to render
their deep respect for
this source of life
that others might know
their story
their values
the word inseparable
from the deed
an imagist language
a timeless articulation
in time and space
John Lyons
Le reste est silence
Alors que le feu flambait
dans l’embouchure de la grotte
les pigments ont été mélangés
et appliqués sur les murs
le cerf et l’antilope admirés
et vivement observés
et chassés pour se nourrir
: l’art pour rendre
leur profond respect pour
cette source de vie
que d’autres puissent savoir
de leur histoire
de leurs valeurs
le mot inséparable
de l’acte
un langage imagiste
une articulation intemporelle
dans le temps et dans l’espace
Parksville, N.Y. revisited, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
A life is a shape
of sorts
a series of directions
a series of choices
a series of decisions
which we sometimes
take for granted
or to which we pay
less than sufficient
attention
A fork in the road
an option or dilemma
it can puzzle us
unless we know
where we are heading
what life lies ahead
the road to heaven
the road to hell
the road to nowhere
the road to love ?
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 