Stains, John Lyons (16 x 16 cm, coffee and oil on canvas)
A grid formed
from barbecue skewers
laid overnight on a canvas
and doused in coffee
to create a canvas
drawn from nature
gravity and evaporation
did most of the rest
but a few dabs of oil paint
were added to provide
a little colour
so whose work is it
mine or an accident
of art produced
by the shaky hand
of chance?
John Lyons
Door, John Lyons (oil on canvas)
“If the doors of perception
were cleansed
every thing would appear to man
as it is, Infinite.
For man has closed himself up,
till he sees all things
thro’ narrow chinks
of his cavern.”
William Blake
from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1790-93)
The painting illustrating today’s text is a reading of Willem de Kooning’s A door to the sea, held at the Whitney Museum in New York. It is perfectly legitimate for one painter to base a painting on an existing work by another artist. Think of the plethora of nativity or crucifixion scenes in Renaissance art. In its own way, a door may represent a nativity or a crucifixion.
Silence of the sea, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
Immense oceans
vast stretches of water
each with an individual
shape and personality
adjusted to shores
adjusted to depths
habitat and source
of sustenance
of life itself
where once
we emerged
vast waves of energy
issuing out of time
flooding the universe
with births and deaths
and rebirths in endless
cycles and expressions
from sunlight
and for no other purpose
than to mutate
into something bigger
or better or smaller
or more efficient
but a single process
at the heart of creation
the silent sea
that we observed
as it licked the shore
at Ramsgate
our birthplace
beckoning us
the silent sea
bathed in moonlight
gentle coruscations
as the wind picked
at its surface
relentless ebb and flow
a long slow pulse
the systolic and diastolic sea
the aqueous beating heart
into which we waded
at Hastings or that day
when we lay on the beach
at Copacabana
until a sudden sandstorm
drove us away
the silent sea
with its mysterious smile
posing more questions
than there are answers
and yet Turner obsessed
with its changing moods
its troubled temperament
although the day that
we lay on the sands of Margate
there was barely a ripple :
we ate cockles and mussels
succulent saline fruit
and the day was long
and under the warm sun
love seemed eternal
John Lyons
Flowers, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, mixed media on canvas)
All the flowers
in the world
could not save
our love
John Lyons
Tulips, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, mixed media on canvas)
That Easter she brought flowers
blood-red tulips from Amsterdam
On a bench in Margravine
they sat and ate fresh doughnuts
they watched the squirrels at play
among the tumbledown gravestones
Life tasted sweet and good on the palate
and love was still a promise to be kept
John Lyons
Such is the texture of life
chiaroscoro on the palate
the rough with the smooth
shapes drawn from nature
and chance the greatest
of all artists – sole capable
of the happy accident
a cascade of coloratura
and so we met and
there was love in the mix
a relationship constructed
out of coffee and much more
a sharing of bodies and of hours
that built destinations
into our days and cut paths
through the urban jungle
This disk of light and dark
a flavour of the times
her cup never less
than half full and all served
with a warm kiss – the taste
indelible on my lips
John Lyons
Dregs, John Lyons
Beauty lurks
in all things
ready to beguile
to entrance
to win a heart
to provoke a sigh
beauty that
so truly lies
to the eye
of the beholder
Here my fortunes
in love or life
all too easy
to be read
in the coffee cup
to me remained
a mystery
to others
an open book
John Lyons
Grapevine, John Lyons
What shall I do
with this absurdity
this universe in which
silence and stillness
simply do not exist
I think of whispered words
the tightened bow of her beauty
the ships on the shores of Troy
the blazing battlements
and a heart under siege
The rod and fly that I handled
so poorly as a boy when I fished
the streams around Thomastown
days long forgotten dearly remembered
What shall I do with this absurdity
the mule that I rode or the horse
or the donkey or a day at the fair
riding the carrousel with scarcely
a dream in my heart just an old tune
: or adrift in the water
under sail off the Brittany coast
under a fierce summer sun
and something stirred within me
and I held her soft face in my gaze
and fell forever into helpless love
John Lyons
Bone moon
Hand of blood and bone
picks roses primroses
things of perfection
things of time
Simple passing
back and forth
of banter
of bonded bodies
that separate
that slip
in and out
of sleep
On moon nights
the silence
of starlight
at daybreak
doves cooing
and later thrush
and sparrow
and eventual
magpies robins
crows
Last night
the interminable
chatter of foxes
shooting the breeze
survival a way of life
for them
Effortless love
that slips in and out
of silence
words couched
in tireless
gestures
Her lips closed
she sleeps on
while he observes
the coruscations
of time
experience comes
at a price always
worth paying
John Lyons
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
johnjosephlyons 