poetry

Digression

irlandesuk poetry ,

Digression

When I was a child
           all the talk was of
how to grow the best roses
           and what types of soil
make for a better lawn

I remember those roses
           with their savage thorns
their soft petals
           dripping with morning dew
but nobody told me
           anything about the challenges
I would face in later life

I was not a sickly child
           and I learned most things
with relative ease
           I played out on the streets
my feet dragging home the dust
           only when the sun set

Life seemed in those days
           to be administered
by perfect hands and reality
           was representational
Had someone shown me
           a Jackson Pollock
I might have had an inkling
            of what was to come

No I am not ill today
           or any other day
not even tired
           simply perplexed
by the mystery of the stars
           scintillating above
an empty ocean

and yet I know exactly
           what I need to make
a perfect day and so do you
           so why don’t we ?

John Lyons

Remembrances

irlandesuk poetry

Remembrances

Last night as the dust descended
           I thought of how long
I have known these streets
           the fields and the woodlands
the winding roads and the houses
           barely changed since my childhood
and I thought too of other streets
           I have known in other places
so far away and yet
           I could still walk them in my mind

I thought too of all the love
           that has come into my life
and how some has remained
           and some has left me forever
and I thought of you and what
           your presence means to me
and how the days pass
           and the seasons come and go
and how in reality we are
           in a kind of fresh infancy
once again taking the first steps
           uttering the first words
holding hands and hoping
           that the feelings we share
will continue to grow and
           that our love will truly prosper

John Lyons

Tenderness

irlandesuk poetry

Tenderness

Tenderness
           the love expressed
in a spontaneous
           simple physical gesture
the palm of the hand
           of a young child
raised to stroke
           its father’s face

a lover who slowly runs her finger
           across her lover’s lips
the warm human complicity
           of the enduring smile
the bright eyes
           and that hand
always reaching out
           with its healing touch

John Lyons

Reading Borges

irlandesuk poetry , ,

Reading Borges

How many spheres contained
           within a marble sphere 
the gift of sculpture
           that sees forms within forms
the blind poet from the Argentine
           so aware of the infinity of infinities
in time and space and how every
           human gesture is necessarily
humbled by the algebras of history
           how the rose rises
above the archetype
           and how heroism is an act
not of the sword
           but of the imagination
the poet who conjures
           with words to create
a parallel universe
           in which Odysseus
is forever at sea and Penelope
           an unattainable promise

John Lyons

Fragment

irlandesuk poetry

Fragment

I saw today the child I once was
           I saw the fields and the woods
where I played from dawn to dusk
           the foxes and the squirrels
that wandered through those days
           caught the heavy scent
of life in all its vegetative glory
           the fallen trees riven with decay
riddled with a swarm of insect life
           feeding upon the death of fibrous bark

and on the edge of a clearing
           a wild rose that seemed unchanged
from all those years ago
           as though time had passed it by
its petals pure as any truth
           a beauty unfurled for all eternity

John Lyons

Enough already

irlandesuk poetry

Enough already

Once upon a time
           the story of the artist
as a young man
           the story of the rose
of you and I
           of the light of love
not just words
           but the first word
the propositions
           upon which we build
our lives steadfast
           under ill winds
and changing
           constellations

Pride and fame
           and fortune and power
all seen in the context
           of all that fades
beauty fades
           but not the truth
of beauty nor the truth
           of love

John Lyons

Election blues

irlandesuk poetry

Election blues

Silence and slow time
in the leaf-fringed garden

lilacs swaying in the breeze
not a bird not a fox to be seen

no melody to delight
the sensual ear

life suddenly passionless
all in abeyance

an empty theatre or at least
one between acts

a world marking time
for heaven’s sake

John Lyons

Chain of thought

irlandesuk poetry

Chain of thought

Life is chain and resurrection
           variation within the repetitions
the roses are as red as ever
           and so too are the lovers’ lips
but we are all of traceable origin
           we all go back in time
our genes chosen
           from a common pool
our hopes and dreams too
           that are dictated
by the soft anatomies
           of the heart

So this day may blow over
           but another will follow
and waves will crash
           on the fine sand of a beach
we knew in our youth but which
           we may never revisit— who knows
and all the kisses we never gave
           may one day be given
and the beauty of it is that
           the truth may finally be told

John Lyons

Summer sketch

irlandesuk poetry

Summer sketch

Rain drips through 
            our summer days
and at night
           the fine arts
of the stars
           are banished

Wake to grey clouds
           a cool westerly
and the silence of birds
           rose petals
in the garden
           dripping wet

John Lyons