art

On the night shift

irlandesuk art, poetry

shift
                                                   Universe, John Lyons (30 x 25 cm, oil on canvas)

On the night shift
       my mind is slower
more in tune
       with the stars

Look how long it took
       for the universe
to shape our world
       for the sea to separate
from the land
       for human life
to evolve
       for you and I to meet
to walk hand in hand
       across Tower Bridge

On the night shift
       my breathing is slower
I have been known
       to doze the hours away
to dream that you
       are still there
by my side and that
       time will in time
repair every injury
       to my soul

John Lyons

Resolution in the face

irlandesuk art, poetry
prince
Prince of Denmark, John Lyons (25 x 30 cm, oil on canvas)

Love sleeps cosy
in my heart
a bright star
in a warm firmament

I wake to the chirrup
of thrush and sparrow
magpies in their Bourbon
regalia have yet to appear

In my dream
I was flying back to you
to a nest we had built
together lovingly

Though rain has fallen
it did not dampen my spirit
whatever life throws my way
I am ready and willing to play

John Lyons

Stream of life

irlandesuk art, poetry
lake_detail
Lake District, John Lyons (30 x 25 cm, oil on canvas)

Cold dry oils
       pigments stripped
from the earth
       daubed on canvas
to record all memory
       of time – here
where great sheets of ice
       once polished and denuded the land
here where barren trees
       now stand in their bleak midwinter

Generations have walked these paths
       have journeyed from star to star
from seed to seed
       an endless stream of life
If you close your eyes
       you can hear the whispers
of those who went before you
       those who fell in bloody wars
and those who lost their lives
       to love or to other distempers
of the heart – last night a moon
       full and intense enough
to burn a hole in the dark sky
       as if to confirm
that the worst is over
       that spring in all its beauty
will come soon and with it hope
       and with it love

John Lyons

The wisdom of magpies

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

moon surface
                                                     Moon surface, photo by John Lyons 

Magpies – the smartest birds
       on the block
feed on beetles and flies
       and caterpillars
and spiders and worms
       and leatherjackets

In winter
       they turn vegetarian
feast on plant material
       such as wild fruits
berries and grains
      Magpies are never crossed
in love – far too smart
       for that

John Lyons

The picture of health

irlandesuk art, poetry

green door

This is a picture of health
       the green door of fresh pastures
the field of possibilities
       where sparrows and crows feed
where daisies and dandelions
       flourish in summer months
meadows bisected by clear streams
       sunlight devoured by every leaf
and blade of grass and life busy
       about its task of refreshing life

lovers and families come here
       to stroll and to remember
their purpose indeed their obligation
       to disperse shadows and sadness
to raise every crestfallen heart
       to apply the warm human touch
to every aspect of their life
       not to ask whether it is nobler
but to bear testimony
       to the truth in all its beauty

John Lyons

Purple moon

irlandesuk art, poetry

purple moon

Patterned purple moon
               mood from a slice of wood
the once living fibres
               caught in colour
so as to project its emotion
               its intricate intimacy
circuitously perfected
               with life’s stamp
Here it is offering
               gift in the moment
of revelation
               a pause for thought
a focal point
               for feeling

Under today’s drab sky
               on the horizon
trees shrouded in mist
               a winter blowing
neither hot nor cold
               evening will come
a torrid sky
               with a purple moon

We will hold hands
               perhaps kiss
perhaps make love
              put the past behind us
swaddle ourselves
               in a shared dream
The stars are there
               to be counted
by their very nature
               they are all lucky

John Lyons

The mirrorless genius – Paul Éluard

irlandesuk art, poésie, poetry , ,

The mirrorless genius – Paul Éluard

When will books read themselves without the aid of readers?
            We’ve been through tragic times; floods have drenched our bones, the multiplied blazes of the stars and fires have stripped almost the entire body of its hair. Thunder no longer frightens us, we pry open skulls to release the exquisite crystal and gold spiders whose beauty is ignored by fools. But very cunning is he who was able to see his eye without the aid of a glass, the one who was able to run his eyes over the voluptuous hollow of his neck. We have loved flexible idols who still ignore what charm the arch of their backs can have. Ah! bring on the day when we will smash the mirror, this final window, where our miraculous eyes will be able to contemplate the marvels of the brain.

1924

Translation by John Lyons

Le génie sans miroir

Quand les livres se liront-ils d’eux-mêmes sans le secours de lecteurs.
            Nous avons traversé de tragiques périodes; les déluges ont détrempé nos os, les feux multipliés des astres et des incendies ont fait la calvitie sur la presque totalité de notre corps. Le tonnerre ne nous effraie plus, nous ouvrons les crânes pour en faire s’échapper les belles araignées de cristal et d’or dont les sots ignorent la beauté. Mais bien malin celui qui a pu voir son œil sans le secours d’une vitre, celui qui a pu promener son regard sur le creux voluptueux de sa nuque. Nous avons aimé des idoles flexibles qui ignorent toujours quel charme peut avoir la cambrure de leurs reins. Ah ! vienne le jour où nous briserons le miroir, cette dernière fenêtre, où nos yeux miraculeux pourront contempler le merveilleux cérébral.

A daughter’s portrait

irlandesuk art, poetry

Divina_oils
                        Daughter, John Lyons (30 x 25 cm, oil on canvas)

A portrait made
       of tables and chairs
and rain and wind
       sketched on fabric
the pigments of life
       rectangular
time and space
       held in shape
by a wooden frame
       the paint still wet
the words still hot
       from the mind
from the heart
       magpie moments
stolen
       and ferreted away
the lush grass
       the autumn leaves
strewn across the fields
       where children play

Another year will come
       and then another
and all things will grow
       and fruit will swell
until in its ripeness
       it is released
and there will always be
       life in plenty
colour in plenty
       and love too

John Lyons

What of our dust

irlandesuk art, poetry

eyes

What of our dust
who will trample upon it
in generations to come ?

What of our love
who will remember it
when the seas rise ?

What of our stars
who will read them
and make sense

of the lives we lived ?
What of here and now
and how and where

will it end ?

John Lyons