poetry

Early morning musing

irlandesuk poetry

Early morning musing

The wind moving gently
           under the fresh green leaves
and in the air the song
           of a single bird

It’s early yet
           and you are still sleeping
while I write these words
           but there’s a warm glow
in the east from a sun
           about to rise
and I sense that the day
           our day
will be full of promise
           it doesn’t take much
to make a day
           these days :

yesterday it was a child
           borne on her mother’s back
barely six months old
           but she had piercing blue eyes
and was noticing everything
           around her until she saw me
and then she stopped and stared
           and in those eyes of hers
I could see the years and years
           of beauty that lay ahead of her
and the love and tenderness
           that she would undoubtedly inspire
and she just a young child
           on a train in a papoose

John Lyons

Perhaps Paris

irlandesuk poetry , ,

Perhaps Paris

Poetry that is
           light on the ear
and on the mind
           of swift foot
full of sunshine
           and love :
it happens sometimes
           but it can’t be forced

Perhaps this spring
           we will go to Paris
walk hand in hand
           along the banks of the Seine
or take an afternoon stroll
           in the Jardin du Luxembourg
and at night in the anonymity
           of the hotel room
your soft skin will beckon to mine
           and we will get closer
than we have ever been
           and it will last forever

John Lyons

Playa Bonita, Puerto Limón

irlandesuk poetry , , ,

Playa Bonita, Puerto Limón

In the grounds of the Hotel Matama
           the air heavy with the fragrance
of white lilies and snapdragons
           and orchids and roses 
but set apart in a stony clearing
           there was a caged ocelot
its smooth tawny fur
           covered in a tangle
of black stripes and bars
           and chains and spots

the iron bars on all four sides
           of the cage offered no shelter
from the heat of the sun
           and as the day drew on
its nostrils were taunted
           by the rising scent
of the rolling sea
           and of the wild rainforest
to the rear where it should
           have been free to roam
and to hunt by night

back and forth I saw it pace
           its majestic muscular pride
so cruelly and hopelessly curtailed
           as in silence its paws 
pounded the sad dry dust
           of its humiliation

but at night
           as the moon rose
and stars filled the barren skies
           its howls could be heard
for miles around
           and they pierced my heart

John Lyons

Short and sweet

irlandesuk poetry

Short and sweet

Don’t you just love
           short poems
the ones you can read
           with a flick of the eye
the ones that tell you
           that summer is a-coming
the bees are buzzing
           and everywhere you look
bulbs are bursting
           into flower and the smile
on her face reminds you
           just how good it is
to be alive—
           truly

John Lyons

The beauty of life

irlandesuk poetry

The beauty of life

The beauty of life
lies in its fragility

the pleasures
that are fleeting

the fresh petals
on the rose

that will soon fall
and need to be

replaced : and love
that always needs

fresh words
and gestures

to keep it alive
so that no day

is ever the same
no moment

monotonous
and we live

in the expectation
of renewal

and reaffirmation
never tiring of what

touches the heart
and moves the soul

to joy as though for
the very first time

John Lyons

Arklow

irlandesuk poetry ,

A very touching new poem from friend of the blog, Molly Rosenberg.

Arklow

A deep gnawing in my heart
An urgency pressing into my thoughts
A deep desire to return to the land and people
From whence my blood has sprung.

A short air space away.
Maybe a journey through
Glassy green waves as
In the old days.

I crave the sound of those dear voices
Long to laugh with them and hear
The stories that only they can tell
And I can hear again and again.

I need to go before it is too late
Before the shadows are all that are left
The memories of sandy days,
The cows down the back lane
The chickens by the gate.

The smell of gorse and salt.
Blackberry and apple
Soda bread and breac 
Just memories that I
Can almost taste.

But it is the people
That I am missing
The need to be with
Them grows stronger
As the days and years pass.

Molly Rosenberg

Hasty definition

irlandesuk poetry

Hasty definition

A poem
           is the occasion
of its creation
           of its being
of its breath
           of its expression

and it may contain
           or exclude all things
and all times
           and all places
and all feelings
           and all thoughts
and all dreams
           and all words
and however much
           silence it requires

a poem may be spun
           from a web of emotions
or of affections
           or of affiliations
local
           or international
public or personal
           but a poem must
have the courage
           to speak the truth
to admire beauty
           and to value love
and tenderness
           above all else

John Lyons

Full stop

irlandesuk poetry ,

Full stop

Earlier this morning
           I noticed that something
was ruffling the leaves
           on the branches of a tall bush
just outside my window :
           it wasn’t the wind because
nothing else was moving
           I looked more closely
and saw a tiny green chaffinch
           rocking rhythmically
back and forth as it pecked
           at the fresh green buds
on the bush
            while high up above

under a faultlessly blue sky
           aircraft were leaving
immaculate white trails
           in their wake
and down by the railway line
           I observed a tall tree
without a single leaf
           but with a large crow
perched silently on one of its 
            uppermost branches
and it occurred to me
           for reasons unknown
that the tree was statement
           to which the black bird
provided a very eloquent
           and conclusive full stop

John Lyons

Holly berry

irlandesuk poetry , , ,

Holly berry

At the top of Maresfield Gardens
           in Hampstead at the front
of one of the houses there’s a holly tree
           the lower branches of which hang over
the brick wall close to the pavement
           and their leathery leaves are covered
in a fine film of dust and on some
           there are signs of damage and decay
but hidden among them
           is a solitary bright red berry
sole survivor from last season
           and I wonder how the birds
could possibly have missed it
           for so long just as I am happy too
to admire the utter simplicity
           of its ineffable beauty

John Lyons

Stars

irlandesuk poetry

Stars

After so much sun during the day
           suddenly the air has crisped
with a sharp frost and up above
           the jet black sky is crystal clear :
incredible that there should be
           such limitless darkness
filled with so many burning stars
           the piercing light filtering through
without diluting the deep dark
           —and it seemed to me
that had I had
           the time and the inclination
on this beautiful spring evening
           it might just have been possible
to number every single star
           in the universe

John Lyons