art

The business of love

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

table
                         Table, John Lyons (70 x 50 cm, acrylic on paper)

A steadfast table
Icelandic blue
on an arctic white
chequered cloth
that cannot contain
every object
the shoes and plates
and tickets to ride

A table
a tenderness
a place in time
an invitation to all
who are absent
a necessary space
where laughter
and silence may
congregate

A table where chance
would be a fine thing
and intimate moments
may be played out
or where a hat may be left
or a bunch of keys
and a dog may bark
off camera

A table fit
for the business of life
or the business of love
or to address the appetite
or to say grace
before a meal
or to lay or to clear
or to be in between
or to bear the weight
of a cool red rose
in a cut glass bowl

John Lyons

Condensed lines

irlandesuk art, poetry

bottles
                Sketch (60 x 40 cm, acrylic on paper)

Oak and ash and sycamore
bear testimony to life’s purpose
a truth in themselves
affording peace and harmony

wherever they stand –
their breath our breath
their shadow our refuge
In fierce winds unflinching

a life of beauty and service
they dwarf all human ambition –
fearless in the face of time
indifferent to the clamber of birds

Steadfast – to all comers
they are generous to a fault

John Lyons

Earlier draft below

Oak and ash and sycamore
       bear testimony to life’s purpose
they are a truth in themselves
       wherever they stand
there is peace and harmony
       their breath is our breath
their shadow our refuge
       in fierce winds

they do not flinch
       theirs is a life of beauty
and service and observe
       how they dwarf
every human ambition
       how fearlessly they endure
in the face of time
       indifferent to the clamber
of birds among their branches
       to all comers generous to a fault

Flat earth

irlandesuk art, poetry

Flat earth

             Flat earth, John Lyons (30 x 25 cm, oil on canvas)

A topography
of the flat mineral earth

of fields and pastures
fertile in the imagination

a surface upon which
colours have been laid

and certain symmetries
marked out which please

the mathematical eye
the circle of life

from root to rust
finally squared

John Lyons

Ode to autumn

irlandesuk art, poetry , ,

orange flowers

            Orange flowers, John Lyons (oil on wood)

Finally the fallen leaves
       are turning from copper
to pure gold
       This is the currency
that poets eagerly mine
       each autumn
It’s a subject that appeals
       to their inner Keats
the mellow sadness
       of a year on the way out

Self-deprecating
       Richardson’s Pamela
called herself
       a piece of painted dirt
and so it is
       the cycle in and out
of the earth
       the human comedy
one door closes
       another door opens
and while there is breath
       there is hope
and where there is life
       there is love

Whose hands are those
       painted on the cave walls
men women children
       the whole community ?
The caves are time capsules –
       behind the art is the perception
that creation goes the distance
       and that the thread of life
is eternal and breath alone powers
       the thread of love

John Lyons

Mike Goldberg’s sardines

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

sardines
                    Sardines, by Michael Goldberg

So I like to keep
tinned sardines
in my cupboard
for a rainy day
and whenever
I think of them
I think of Frank
O’Hara visiting
Mike Goldberg
who is painting
sardines into
his picture
but when it’s
finished Frank
goes back and
says : Where’s
the sardines?
They’re gone
they were too
much says
Mike Goldberg

John Lyons

Manhattan’s lonely crowd

irlandesuk art, poetry , ,

crowd

                 Art class, John Lyons

A crowd
       a fullness
and an emptiness
       tightly pressed
together and yet
       so far apart
each one mysteriously
       transparent
open-mouthed
       expectant

perhaps each hoping
       to trade in
their inner 5th Avenue
       their fragility
their soulful aloneness
       for some firm
intimate connection
       one with another

John Lyons

Reposted to correct layout

What painting teaches

irlandesuk art, poetry

gate 4

What painting teaches us
that things can go wrong
that things can be put right
give it time – drying time

pay attention and listen
to what the canvas has to say
don’t be afraid to experiment
try out fresh colours or add

a few extra lines here and there
the medium has its own eloquence
try to see what is there to see
hiding in plain sight or

behind the closed door
think of it as furniture
that may be turned around
in room so that everything

eventually comes together
try to think inside and
outside of the frame
and never admit defeat

John Lyons

Sonata in oils

irlandesuk art, poetry

gate_3
        Sonata, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

The painting is the puzzle
the painting is the journey

the painting is the gateway
a way in and a way out

the painting is a process
inchoate incomplete

perhaps never to be
finitely finished but simply

jettisoned out through the door
and into the outer world

John Lyons

Love’s artery

irlandesuk art, poetry

inferno
           Inferno, John Lyons (paper collage)

Let’s describe this
       as a cauldron of colour
light and energy
       bubbling away
soft pinks and blood reds
       with dark clouds
gathering at the rear
       the ragged edges
of torn paper laid
       on a bed of white card
one day collaged
       upon another and so
the picture builds up
       could be a fiery heaven
or an icy hell
       a state of mind
or simply an outburst
       of activity

But where
       you may ask
are the people ?
       where is there
anything familiar ?
       it’s all feeling
but feeling for what ?
       a life consumed
as a smokeless fuel
       moments of anger
moments of passion
       arterial moments of love

John Lyons

The lie of the land

irlandesuk art, poetry

noirjean
         The lie of the land, John Lyons (9 x 13 cm collage)

This is what it’s like
       to be caught
in the warp and weft
       of being
the fabric of our existence

We have needs
       beyond our means
dreams that may be
       dashed
and we fear above all
       the loss of love

Our lives are filled
       with equipment and devices –
so many things we no longer
       know how to do for ourselves
our homes have become
       territories which we guard
with our lives
       we have become investments
and pander to so many idols
       blinding ourselves
to the work of angels
       who move constantly among us

Perfection is there
       in the webs of spiders
in nature’s silk
       in the beauty of roses
or the soaring flight
       of sparrowhawks

But there are no vacancies
       in the natural world
and none need apply
       creation has its work to do
its solar systems to build
       while we are tasked
with something quite simple
       merely to love and
to allow ourselves
       to be loved

John Lyons