For all the words I might have said

Random
Random figures, John Lyons (oil on canvas)

For all the words I might have said

I need more sky
           I need it blue and wide
and unencumbered
           by towering steel and glass
I need clear skies at night
           so that I can track the stars
in which my destiny
           is written

I need more sky
           into which I can propel
my dreams and figure out
           a way to turn back the head
of the woman I love
           and I need more birds
to populate my skies
           and remind me
of the lightness of being
           and the ease of movement
from one place to another
           the exhilaration of flight

I need more sky
           and less dusty roads
that merely carry me away
           from the one I love
less long dry roads
           that snake out
into the wilderness
           never to return

I need all the welcoming sky
           I can get and under that sky
I need her to tell me
           that I’m forgiven
for all the things I never did
           for all the words I might have said
for all the times I might have slipped and fell
           and for all the times

John Lyons

Budapest recalled

thorns_1
Thorns, John Lyons  (toothpicks aith acrylic)

Budapest recalled

Between Buda and Pest
on a pleasure boat
sailing the Danube
as snow fell

my hands frozen
my teeth chattering
in the cold night
and you beside me

One more memory
to add to our stock
of shared moments
of love and kisses

but time marches
to a drum tap
and all things pass
in this field of battle

John Lyons

Tender stars

Fabric
Fabric, John Lyons (oil on canvas)

Tender stars

and the origin
           of tenderness
there in the stars
           warmth and vibration
the dance of atoms
           and molecules

and how we identify
           with faces and places
kindred energies
           all bound
in the same direction
           the lines on our faces

drawn in time
           desperate always
to prove that we
           were here

and if we had
           nothing but love
in our lives
           wouldn’t we be
more than satisfied just
           making each other’s day

sleeping under
           the innocent
moonlight celebrating
           the origin

of our primal being
           that lifts us up
through tenderness
           and desire
into an eternal
           spring

John Lyons

One long question

creation
Creation, John Lyons (oil on plastic)

One long question

Who is to say what life is
           breath as we know it
flesh as we know it
           the division of cells
as we know it
           and endless growth
and reproduction
           and when it was
that mind first entered
           the universe

and names were assigned
           and contemplation
became the order of the day
           and consciousness arose
and feelings of love and of loss
           and dreams bridged the gap
between sleeping and waking
           and art appeared
in the image and likeness
           and the tongue was first
set loose upon the world
           never again to be silenced

John Lyons

Celebration

Mess_3
A Mess, John Lyons (oil on canvas)

Celebration

What is there to celebrate
           when a love dies
when a love has nothing
           more to give
when empty words
           fill the silences
when heartbreak and longing
           stalk the streets
and not a finger is raised
           to ease the pain

The petals on the orchid
           fell one by one
marking time
           leaving a litter
of white flowery flesh
           on the floor

Part of the earth’s process
           of birth and death
that only love transcends
           with its rich textured
feelings and warm words
           that can illuminate a life
deeply if all too briefly

John Lyons

Beyond the new moon

moon
Moon, John Lyons

Beyond the new moon

Beyond the new moon
           falling
oak leaves and acorns :
           a child in her mother’s arms
smiled at me and beyond that smile
           a life I will never see

As the sun rose
           I heard pigeons calling
one to another
           but not to me
Temperatures have dipped
           not quite enough
to form a frost
           but that will come too
and the long summer days
           will be forgotten

We’re into the last
           of blue September skies
and beyond these
           who knows what winds
will blow
           or when

I want to winter in the warmth
           of her arms
out of harm’s way
           These words
these falling leaves have left me
           utterly defenceless
Words set in white space
           in convivial silence
that’s poetry
           that’s all I have

John Lyons

What goes around

red patch
Red patch, John Lyons (oil on canvas)

What goes around

I was a child here
           played here
gathered conkers
           in the woods here
did battle with
           my friends here
won so many games here
           and ran across the fields
till I was blue
           in the face

life is always as
           it promises to be
unexpected
           and the seasons
teach us inevitably
           that what goes around
comes around 
           and so it does here

John Lyons

Ramping it up

forbidden
Brown on yellow, John Lyons (oil on canvas)

Ramping it up

After a good night’s sleep
           I wake slowly
creep into my day
           one of light work
and gentle exercise
           always watching my diet
weight loss being
           the principle here

poets are no different
           from anyone else
and keeping the body
           in shape is essential
enough of this free verse
           I want to have a figure
as tight as a sonnet
           and as trim as a bird

John Lyons

Turner’s time

Origins
Origins, John Lyons (oil on canvas)

Turner’s time

Time of itself
           no significant changes
my time is not your time
           we each carry our own load
I could even say lode
           Time and what you make of it
the wish to change
           and the will to change
the energies that we apply
           to the process of change
or stasis
           and time-resistance
no wish and no will
           to change and each year
as the year before
           and life a constant
duplication of the previous
           or do I repeat myself
the steps we take
           that you and I take
to renew and refresh
           to break through
the time-barrier
           Turner on Margate beach
sand under his feet
           sailed through time
applied fire to his canvas
           held eternity at bay
if only for a while
           all for his art

John Lyons