Author: irlandesuk

The immeasurable sky

irlandesuk poetry

The immeasurable sky

Love deals in absolutes
           in the beauty of truth
and the truth of beauty
           immeasurable as the sky
or the blue ocean depths
           the thorn that protects
the scarlet rose
           the summer songbirds
and the winter’s lament

Would that she had
           kept the faith
and loved me as deeply
           as I her
and these my poems
           songs of innocence
and experience
           though all in love
are blameless

I have seen
           the mottled trout
rising through
           unblemished waters
soaked with sunlight
           a gentle summer breeze
in my hair and youth
           in my veins

all those years now gone
           and many who were with me
on that day gone too –
           the beauty of love is
that it remains
           true to itself
for all time

John Lyons

The Cave of Hands

irlandesuk art, poetry , ,

Cave of Hnads

The Cave of Hands

Those hands
           on the cave wall
in Santa Cruz
           Argentina
waving to us
           from 9000 years ago

Silhouettes created
           by blowing paint
through bone-made pipes
           : and such warmth
in these gestures
           as if to say
we’re here and in our art
           we salute you
our friends
           to come

John Lyons

Revised from an earlier post on 2 April 2018

Dancing with my shadow

irlandesuk poetry

Dancing with my shadow

My shadow is a shadow
           of its former self
though age
           has not defeated me
I’ve known love
           and I’ve known beauty
and tasted all things
           that are good for the soul

Let’s not say
           that beauty passes
rather that it matures
           in time’s fullness
but there are times
           when time itself
does not pass
           when life is lived
in the ecstasy
           of the moment

I’ve known that too
           when we shared our love
equally and our kisses
           were more than emblematic
Such is the lie of the land
           that all things run down
rivers to the sea
           lovers to the grave
but love
           love itself
outlives life
           love itself

John Lyons

 

Down by the Thames

irlandesuk poetry ,

Down by the Thames

The flow of language
that runs down to silence
: the rivers that bury
themselves in the sea

just as today at Erith
Thames waters glide away
into the distance
out of my sight and mind

Farewell to the idea
to the passing moment
to the creatures that live
within beneath or above

these tidal reaches
to times marked
by the sun and the moon
A lone fisherman casts a line

into the deep unknown
What passion lurks
within his heart what loves
has he known and lost ?

His head is in his dreams
his hope in the bite of a fish
his life has brought him
to the pier where for a while

he will be

John Lyons

Portrait in years

irlandesuk poetry

cologne

Portrait in years

I’m standing
           in the middle
of a bridge
           over a small river
that runs through
           a small town
somewhere
           in Germany

I’m no longer sure
           who took the photo
but the year is 1974
           I’m holding a bottle
of what is probably
           some sort of soda
my hair is longer
           than it should be
and I am slimmer
           than I will ever be
again
           I have the whole
of my adult life
           ahead of me

The photo is so
           poorly focused
it reveals
           next to nothing
about me or what
           I was thinking
on that summer’s day
           at that precise time

John Lyons

 

The brave man

irlandesuk art, poetry
new growth
New growth, John Lyons (oil on wood)

The brave man

And so to live
the warm antiquity of self
in a world grown cold
green eyes that look
to the forgiving sky

and in the night
fresh stars appear
– the wine is good
and love is always
a prospect

That brave man
looks and learns
and is not afraid
to relinquish the past

to distance himself
from all that is false
or faint-hearted

John Lyons

This revised poem is based on a reading of two poems by Wallace Stevens, ‘The Brave Man” and “A Fading of the Sun” from an early seminal collection, Ideas of Order (1936). The accompanying painting is an old camembert lid splattered with leftover colours so as not to waste.

Fragments of time

irlandesuk poetry , ,

Fragments of time

Through our veins
           the blood of stars
from which all warmth
           from which all passion
from which all life
           from which all love

her hand within mine
           is universe touching
universe
           flesh upon flesh
feeding upon
           eternal energies

these words
           are star script
temporal equations
           of eternal expression
the earth populated
           with fragments of time
that burn to coalesce
           to embody a single soul

Orpheus descends
           through her open eyes
into the heart
           of her love

John Lyons

Ruskin Park, Lambeth

irlandesuk poetry ,
lady's bedstraw
Lady’s bedstraw (Galium verum)

Ruskin Park, Lambeth

The stillness
           the silence
the magic of sunlight
           harvested
in the flowering orchard
           – quince and medlar
apple and pear
           a medley of berries

and in the meadow
           greater knapweed
ragged robin
           lady’s bedstraw
and ox-eye daisy
           all flourish

A common coot
           slips lazily into the pond
when it hears my step
           on the grassy path
is lost
           among the tall reeds
in the stillness
           in the silence

The days of dragonfly
           will soon be upon us
winter a distant memory
           love in the air

John Lyons

 

Starlight

irlandesuk poetry

Starlight

All this beauty
           from stars
the lips
           the hair
the fullness
           of her female form

her hips
           the elegant feet
all this beauty
           from the stars
and in her eyes
           starlight

John Lyons

Long-tailed tits

irlandesuk poetry , ,

Long-tailed-tit

Long-tailed tits

If you go down to Highgate Wood
           there are sparrow-hawks
on the prowl and crows and magpies
           looking for easy pickings –
so the long-tailed tits
           can take no chances

In the fork of a tree
           or the thick of a hawthorn bush
they build a nest shaped in the form
           of an old-fashioned flexible purse
with a narrow entrance
           to one side near the top

It’s made from a mesh
           of tiny moss leaves
bound by spider silk
           and covered with flakes of lichen
to provide camouflage
           against predators

The interior they line with hundreds
           upon hundreds of downy feathers
to insulate and create a warm cradle
            for the clutch to come –
and for weeks
           they live in fear
until the brood has found its feet
           and found its wings

John Lyons

Version en français

long-tailed tit nest

Les mésanges à longue queue

Si vous descendez à Highgate Wood
           il y a des éperviers à l’affût
et des corbeaux et des pies
           à la recherche de cueillettes faciles –
donc les mésanges à longue queue
           ne peuvent prendre aucun risque

Dans la fourchette d’un arbre
           ou bien au milieu d’un buisson d’aubépine
ils construisent un nid en forme
           d’une bourse souple à l’ancienne
avec une entrée étroite
           d’un côté près du sommet

Il est fabriqué à partir d’un filet
           de minuscules feuilles de mousse
liées par la soie d’araignée
           et recouvertes de flocons de lichen
pour se camoufler
           contre les prédateurs

L’intérieur ils tapissent
           avec des centaines
de plumes duveteuses pour isoler
           et créer un berceau chaud
pour la portée d’oisillon à venir –
           et pendant des semaines
ils vivent dans la peur
           jusqu’à ce que la couvée ait
trouvé ses pieds
           ait trouvé ses ailes