poetry

Borne up by the body

irlandesuk poetry

Borne up by the body

Words and what we make of them
           what we make with them
the neverending
           riverrun of words
that advance in leaps and bounds
           or that sing birdsong or the praises
of a rose its thorns set aside
           or of your beauty under the rise
and fall of the sun
           your daily body and thoughts
as you move about your business
           as you are seen here and there
and as you are loved here
           in the presence of my heart

The token of words spoken
           palatable words that make
of the mouth a shrine
           the tongue never still
in its devotion
           words caught in the light
of your eyes
           and on your live lips

John Lyons

Cry of angels

irlandesuk poetry ,

Cry of angels

Language that developed
           out of deep need
that breath breathed into life
           words by which our thoughts
are fleshed out
           place where word and deed
coalesce and shape our lives
           passionate palpitating texts
soundscape wordscape
           of our day-to-day significance

the sense and sensibility of it
           snow flurries on a northern hillside
flakes forever frozen
           for all time captured
sight and sound recordings
           of how good it feels to be alive
to live in the warmth of another’s love
           out of the deep need
to give and to partake
           to annotate the cry of angels
an eye spy upon the world
           and to feel through what we see
to turn a deft hand to love
           to pursue the heady heart
to celebrate with the pulse
           of rhythm our soulful kinship

and how one body latches
           onto another for all time
a kiss at the point of creation
           what rises out of the mist
the perfect synthesis of light
           beauty’s truth
the poetry of it all
           the timed theme of our life
the ardent renewal
           of the face of the earth
all wordthings in
           immeasurable motion
in ecstatic dance
           until our dying day

John Lyons

The bitter cold

irlandesuk poetry

The bitter cold

Now as the light fades
           the sky turns ice blue
heralding a bitter wind
           from the north
I shiver as I wait
           for the train and along
the station platform
           I see others rubbing
their hands or hopping
           on their feet to keep warm

In the coming hours
           the temperature will drop
still further but I will be in
           out of the cold
content of heart
           in the glow of your love

John Lyons

 

Anticipations

irlandesuk poetry

Anticipations

The grace that comes from knowing
       that gift of consciousness
that places us at the very centre
       of the imagined universe
that inner voice that guides
       and informs us
that is aware
       of all our yesterdays
and yet so eagerly
       anticipates each tomorrow

The grace that comes
       from feeling
that builds an intimate
       world of sense
of enriched experience
       and of all the emotions
that are ours
       to have and to hold

John Lyons

Impromptu

irlandesuk poetry

Impromptu

Pure beauty
unfiltered
by words
by thought
by art
beauty as
sole purpose
as open orchid
flower
or lily bent
on enticement

or murmur
of the night sea
on the shore
pins of light
on the horizon
from gently
bobbing boats
trawling the ocean’s
the endless time
and space

John Lyons

 

A test of poetry

irlandesuk poetry

A test of poetry

What have I
       in my breath
captured ?
       The stillness
of the moment
       the soundlessness
of a mind subdued
       of words lying
at rest at ease
       almost

In my breath
       a single syllable
: rose
       neither water
nor petal nor thorn
       nor stem

No flowering
       of the flower
simply
       a rose
with its gaunt
       silhouette bound
by the atomic energy
       subdued within

The word will outlive the petals
       that soon enough will
curl crisp and burn
       in the oxidizing air
dust is its destiny
       the fate we all share

but for the moment
       its perfect form captivates
its opiate beauty enthralls
       its fragrance entrances
and it is all
       it needs to be

John Lyons

Rose

irlandesuk poetry

Rose

Stillness
       of the mind
subdued
       the cult
of energy
       a rose
contemplated
       in all its glory
given the attention
       it deserves
the gift of time
       its beauty admired
leisurely
       each gentle fold
of each petal
       lovingly explored
the fragrant
       silence

John Lyons

 

Two hawks

irlandesuk poetry

Two hawks

Woven words
particles of sense
two hawks in flight
hovering over
the marshland

cold clear blue sky
the acuteness
of their vision
mapping the ground
beneath them

the hunting instinct
destined to make
their own way in life
ageless timeless creatures
of great beauty
killers nevertheless

John Lyons

Uncle Matt

irlandesuk poetry ,

Uncle Matt

My father’s uncle Matt
           a quiet gentle man
who enjoyed a pint
           and would dress
for the occasion
           in his Sunday best

I remember
           his black leather boots
placed neatly
           at the side of the bed
and how quietly
           he slept

He was from Arklow
           and was often a lodger
but I never knew
           what he did nor did I ask
and so light on his feet
           he’d come and go like a ghost
and his brogue so soft
           you’d hardly hear
a single word :
           that’s all I can say

John Lyons

Camille Pissarro

irlandesuk poetry ,
Pissarro
Camille Pissarro – Street in Upper Norwood

Camille Pissarro

Tiny brushstrokes
           tiny blobs of paint
not a person
           not a horse
nor a dog
           but the idea
of that thing
           suggested in oils

no single detail making any sense
            on its own
but taken as a whole
           instantly recognisible
genius on the end
           of a sable brush
coloured pigments
           mixed with linseed oil
applied on canvas
           breathing eternal life
into the inhabitants
           of Upper Norwood

John Lyons