
Choreographies
The choreography
of paint on the canvas
the brush swaying
from side to side
crossing the surface
in leaps and bounds
air moving
through the bristles
energy unleashed
life as it should be lived
John Lyons

The choreography
of paint on the canvas
the brush swaying
from side to side
crossing the surface
in leaps and bounds
air moving
through the bristles
energy unleashed
life as it should be lived
John Lyons

Beautiful mottled January sky
light illuminating
shreds of grey cloud
birds engaged
in aimless enjoyment
the to and fro of their lives
the year is on the turn
there may be better days to come
but this is one of the best so far
and it feels good
to be alive
to know that there is love
in the world
and to be a part of it
John Lyons

To think
that there was
a time
when the world
was a blank canvas
before there was
language
before there was
art
before there was
music
before there was
dance
Creation
is rooted
in time
love too
John Lyons

Deep into autumn
many trees stripped bare
or gone to gold and rust
a sparrow returns
to a familiar bush
only to discover
that all the berries
have been eaten
there’s a beautiful
light grey sky up above
Ed Clark could’ve painted it
and for some reason
or no reason at all
I think of a piebald horse
I once saw grazing
in a field in retirement
today the earth
is spinning slowly
time is dragging its heels
I should get a move on
head out into
the big wide world
and prepare to fight
the good fight
but then I think ok
what’s the rush
the future can wait
just a little longer
John Lyons

Physics tells us so much
about our bodies
that they are formed
from restless energies
that movement
is fundamental
to every aspect
of the universe
that our souls
were forged
in the very origins
of time
that expansion
versus contraction
is the developmental
paradox of the whole
of creation
down to the pulsating
chambers of our hearts
and that gravity
is an expression of love
drawing one person
irresistibly
close to another
John Lyons
When was it
Wallace asks
that the particles became
the whole man ?
Whose hand shaped the clay
into what became
the Grecian urn ?
Clay working upon clay
Whose hand hardened it
in the fire
so that it would be there
for all time ?
A breathing human passion
The energy to create
and so direct those energies
to a precise purpose
earth to earthenware
clay to Keats
poet to poetry
truth to beauty
John Lyons
John Lyons

These frail flowers
a figment
of the imagination
nothing real
or accurate
or even precise
or well-executed
mere pigment
on a wooden base
but not a single rose
or peony or petunia
or daffodil
will outlive this
notional posy
John Lyons

What she whispers
into my ear
what I whisper
into hers
love intensified
by word of mouth
JohnLyons

The mere suggestion
will suffice
when it comes
to art
the form
inseparable
from the content
shapes we carry
in the memory
things associated
with multiple purposes
the detailing
of the expression
of feelings
a simple bouquet
for my love
John Lyons
Corrected text

My mother was born
in the shadow of mountains
her old bones long since
laid to rest
I know the place
the house the houses
where she was a girl
I know the school
I know the shoreline
where she would go
in the summer to bathe
and walk along the beach
My bones
out of her bones
have grown old too
but my muscles retain
their youthful vigour
I know many things
and yet am ignorant
of so much more
Perhaps I long to return
to that place
in the shadow of mountains
where calm waters
run down to the sea
Perhaps is a word
I have used too often
in my life perhaps
John Lyons