How soon the petals fall
how soon dawn turns to dusk
how soon this life is over
and all things turn to dust
and memories are piecemeal
and time consumes them all
till love is all that’s left us
that love in which we trust
John Lyons
No goldfish bowl this
but colour moving
with stealth and grace
a flowering of flesh
a world away
from our own
John Lyons
The chain of memory
one step after another
from daybreak to dusk
in the cold
or the sweltering heat
the past barely behind us
we immersed
in its consequences
but constantly edging
forward to cover
or so we hope
new ground
to free ourselves
from all that would
tie us down
or hold us back
Love tells us that
there are no repetitions
that each moment
is sacred
each kiss or caress
devotional
and that tenderness
is sometimes a gift
of parentage
We live the fact
of our existence
yet pass our lives
in search of the true
innocent inner self
a cosmos unto ourselves
with our own laws
and trusted properties
and it takes quite a mind
quite a heart
to grasp it
in its totality
we who dwell
in the known country
struggle with a muddle
of necessary imperfections
of missed goals
and opportunities
of failures and remorse
taking comfort only
from the pity of love
from the hand and lip
of another much like us
a brother or a sister
a poetic companion
sharing in our humanity
moved by the same rose
soothed by the same birdsong
driven by the same desires
John Lyons
In all modesty
it’s about the words
the words that you lay down
day in day out in verse
the poetry that comes
with your breathing
or from your breath
the particulars of life
that you choose to salute
those events and those feelings
that remain when all else
has been subtracted
what is of importance
As the master said
learn your distances
know your intimacies
confuse neither
the rose you dared to pick
the love you dared to live
the intensity of it all
the here and now of it
that construct of space
within time that you dared
to create for there is risk
in all things that animate
and chance would be
a fine thing if it existed
the question is
do you lead a life
or are you led by it
who is running the show
who decides whether
you live or you die
in truth to yourself
John Lyons
Those hands on the wall
of the cave in Santa Cruz
Argentina waving to us
from 9000 years ago
The silhouettes created
by blowing paint
through bone-made pipes
The warmth of these
gestures as if to say
we were here and we
salute you those of you
who are to come
John Lyons
In the beginning
nothing : no colour
no light no movement
no space just
boundless darkness
though even then
there was nowhere
for the darkness to be
There was no warmth
no cold no life
no kiss no love
nothing
just an aching emptiness
infinitely empty
even of emptiness
even of heartache
And then there was light
and with it came
art and the explosion of colour
throughout the cosmos
irremediable darkness
banished forever
quite simply put to death
by the act of creation
John Lyons
What sunrise gives us
each day is sky
limitless space in which
to cast our dreams
as far as the eye
can see
No longer enclosed
in darkness
the imagination
can run riot
all things being
possible
even now
the birds have
changed their tune
and are singing
a song they learnt
on Broadway
Blue sky
more profound
than any ocean
and it takes
only a mind to navigate it
a mind and a brave
heart scudding along
on waves of poetry
the hawthorn
will soon be in flower
and roses will follow on
from daffodils
nests will fill
and field populations
will swell
with new birth
and the city
will pick up its feet
and dance
late into the night
each day a promise
each night a fulfillment
and your breath
and your pulse will race
to the end of love’s
sweet palpitation
John Lyons
Here in this stormy canvas
are elements of my life
the deep earth colours
from which I emerged
with streaks of green
and yellow and orange
and a crimson patch
of the blood I have given
to my art and poetry :
out of raw sienna
and umber a narrative
of lamp black and Prussian
blue and swathes of white
that represent steadfast
love and hope in the midst
unseasonal chaos
John Lyons
What I love
about this detail
from a recent canvas
is the way the colours
in the foreground
appear to be floating
on water or on ice :
it could be a pond
or a stretch of canal
frozen over such as
on Thursday
up by Ladbroke Grove
when I saw two swans
that were wondering
where to go with ice
all around them
and seemingly
no way out
John Lyons
I can’t wait
for spring to come
for the bitterness
of this winter to be over
to see flowers in the fields
and red roses in bloom
in the garden
with fresh lavender
in the borders
and to hear the buzz
of bees doing
what they know best
collecting the fresh nectar
that one day soon
I will spread on a slice
of warm toast
and thank God that I’m
still alive to enjoy it
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 