art

Gateway to love

irlandesuk art, poetry

gate
        Gateway to love, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

Sometimes the best poetry
       for the moment is composed
of silence : just as sparrows
       do not sing all day long
a pause a respite a lull
       is always welcome
rather than
       a glut or an excess

Broad margins
       of white space
a huge empty sky
       blue by all accounts
waves of transparent air
       shifting imperceptibly
a kind of nothingness
       of fulfilment

What I want to tell you
       is. . .
but it can wait
       just allow me to be
the one beside you
       basking in your beauty
loving you wordlessly without
       so much as a sigh

John Lyons

The passing of flowers

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

dressed

There is no aim
       to clean cut flowers –
to be frank they are
       an unnecessary need
We place them
       upon pedestals
we water them
       with affection
we say we love them
       we admire them
from all angles
       they centre our rooms
and light up the hours
       of our lives that are
themselves mere petals : and
       when their stems droop
and their blooms
       fall apart we mourn
their passing just as
       we mourn the passing
of our loves and all things that
       must necessarily pass

John Lyons

True colours

irlandesuk art, poetry

gate adjust

         Adjustment, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

These birds too
       know that it’s September
they also have their calendars
       and live from season to season
acting in accordance
       with the earth’s mood

They see the leaves falling
       they see dew on the grass
at first light and they observe
       the behaviour of squirrels
harvesting for the winter ahead
       and they sense
in the silence in the skies
       as summer visitors depart
to warmer climes
       that life will shortly form
a tighter fist
       and that some but not all
will soon struggle to survive –
       they know more than we know

John Lyons

Edited from earlier today

Just words

irlandesuk art, poetry

Face

From this distance in time
         that rearward vision
as life unravels
         leaf after autumn leaf
falling through the drizzle
         all those moments captured
in wordy recollections
         the winnowing wind
of memory
         me picking my way
through the text
         of my past

Where would I be
         without those words
when love was in flames
         A world unwoven
only to be threaded
         together again
poetry to exalt
         the present and the real
built on the bridge
         of what went before

John Lyons

Squirrel takes a turn

irlandesuk art, poetry

aimless 2

You would think
       that that squirrel
that spritely rodent
       with its grey bushy tail
was in training
       for something

All morning
       it has been running
back and forth
       along the rim
of the garden fence
       making a great show
of its enviable sense
       of balance : freezing
from time to time
       in quintessential poses
before leaping forward
       with acrobatic ease

Winter is approaching
       already the sun has dipped
the first frosts are days away
       the squirrel will have its sport
before summer utters
       its last call

John Lyons

What goes around

irlandesuk art, poetry

Erin

The season will soon
       be upon us again
of Vacherin Mont d’Or
       the winter cheese
in the round pine box
       sumptuously
unpasteurised
       deliciously baked

Think of the hillsides
       where the cows graze
where the pine trees grow
       and the wooden disks
from the base and the lid
       which I decorate
year after year
       to celebrate the force
of nature and the power
       of the imagination

John Lyons

Slender words

irlandesuk art, poetry

mond

Aimless art, John Lyons (25 x 30 cm, oil on canvas)

As the wind moves
through a field
of tall flowers

or through a forest
in winter
when all the leaves
have fallen

As it moves through
her hair displacing
the sunlight
as it goes

As her breath moves
through her lips
passes out
into the air

and the sound
of her laughter
of the voice shaped
by her words

her gentle smile
and the kiss
she blows
for me alone

John Lyons

Memory is distance

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

drift
               Coffee grounds on yellow background, John Lyons

Memory is distance
       over time
is wholeness
       is struggle to prevent
fragmentation –
       perceptions saved
within the senses
       the dragonfly
that skimmed the pond
       summer after summer
all those years ago
       and the scent of cherry blossom
of peach and pear and plum
       and cut grass
and ice on my tongue
       the joy and sadness of rain
and winter dreams
       and the discontent of bees
as flowers fade and dust gathers
       on the gilded earth
and love comes lately
       if it comes at all

Memory is sharpness
       of the mind
we forage for it
       and sometimes stumble
upon past realms
       resurrected in the heart
savoured on the lips
       or a soft voice heard
on the edge of night
       a tender text of angels
a sudden knowledge
       of years reborn
a body politic
       to which we clasp
until daylight breaks
       across our bones

John Lyons

The second coming

irlandesuk art, poetry

descent 2
       Descent 2, John Lyons (50 x 70 cm, oil on canvas)

I make minor adjustments
       to yesterday’s canvas
a thin additional strip
       of cobalt blue
and an enlargement
       of the buff titanium patch

Remnants of the underpainting
       are clearly visible
and I am deciding whether or not
       to eliminate them although
they’re a part of the painting’s history
       or should I say archaeology

Whatever –
       the painting is still there
lurking in a corner of my study
       and I gaze at it from time to time
looking for small pointers
       listening for signs that might
in some manner enrich it
       before I let it loose

John Lyons