poetry

Love alone

irlandesuk poetry

 Love alone

Let the past
           be sealed
for all time :
           we who move
through the day
           into the night
know the odour
           of cedar wood
and the scent
           of fallen roses

Two blackbirds perched
           in a bare tree
that nobody saw
           their song unheard
but never in vain
           life is its own reward
and poetry the voice
           of our true nature
and as we celebrate
           we resist the overtures
of age and decay
           and all the deceits
of empty thrones
           and failed harvests
love alone the marvellous
           necessity

Time will crush us
           if we allow it space
in our lives
           we must push on
into tomorrow
           fresh blossoms
fresh leaves
           a cleaner air
in the air
           the sun will ripen us
bring a fresh colour
           to our cheeks
there will be
           soft succulent
summer fruits
           and love will flourish
wherever we open
           our hearts

John Lyons

And so I turn to you

irlandesuk poetry

And so I turn to you

In the hollow depths
of the night I turn to you

what will we make
of this darkness

and as the day dawns
I turn again to you

how will we celebrate
the gift of this light

love latent in the soul
the deep breath of life

John Lyons

That simple

irlandesuk poetry

That simple

Wake to thick white frost
           on the roofs / it may snow
designer flakes may fall :
           last night Venus and Mars
perfectly aligned
           with the crescent moon
a forest of stars visible
           to the naked eye
billions upon billions
           of sources of light and energy
to warm the deep
           cosmic darkness

you and I in the midst
           of this drama
that has been unfolding
           since the beginning
of beginnings / everything
           on such a scale
that a sense of proportion
           is lost or meaningless
except that we are conscious
           of the snow
and the roses
           that will bloom in May
conscious too
           that a kiss may change
the course of history
           now and forever

John Lyons

New year

irlandesuk poetry

New year

Winter seed
           that grows in silence
blooms in spring
           is radiant throughout
the summer months :
           nothing is wasted
the germ of beauty
           and life-sweetness
carefully stored
           coded into
our daily lives
            The good fortune
that we make
           lies within us
is awakened
           and activated
in the structures
           of our truth

if careless words
           cost lives
we need to be judicious 
            yet generous
in our affections
           be faithful
to the inbred impulse
           sorrow lies
in over-attachment
           to the past
but we are always
           better than that
our lives built
           from all that is
yet to come
           and to overcome

tear down the tinsel
           and take a new tune
into your head
           fresh roses
there in the wings
           ready to make
their appearance
           when the time is right

John Lyons

Year end

irlandesuk poetry

Year end

Renewal of the bones
           and the flesh
reaffirmation of prime causes
           what moves the soul
the tender fabric of which
           you are made
source of your moral blood
           purpose of universe

Know yourself artfully
           in dance
in the melody of your movements
           your mind a place of kindness
a sanctuary for the misbegotten
           value the power
of your breathing word
           admire the methodology of the rose
in its simple delight at being
           a glorious petalled presence
and standard bearer
           for impeccable beauty

John Lyons

The death of history

irlandesuk poetry , ,

The death of history

We need to know our day
           feel our way through it
until we come to the night
           there is no passion in the moon
it is what we bring with us
           or fail to bring
the precision of love
           that knows its season
and the order of its duties
            We could stare at the moon
forever and accomplish nothing
           it’s in the decanted hours
of the day that our fortunes
           will be made
our bodies dispersed
           through field and city
chasing the arc
           of our ambition
but life is not repetition
           it is advancement
through cobalt blue
           and copper residues
to each his or her north star
           Love composes us
it’s what we’re made of
           and what we chiefly make
busied as we are in the hive
           of our affections

Aphrodite gone to ground
           Venus alone in her bed
night of wind and rain
           and the soil of secret growth
in which a rose suddenly unfolds
           an assertion of beauty
on a scale that taunts the planets
           what Homer saw in his blindness
that drove him to sing of love
           as being above all things
and the only symmetry
           worth fighting for
love synonymous —after all—
            with the death of history

John Lyons

Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay

irlandesuk poetry ,

Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay

I remember the brash light
           streaming through
the branches of the lime trees
           the crisp air that felt
almost too good
           in the lungs
the soft sunshine that spread
           a silver sheen
across the endless River Plate

I remember the slow motion
           of the people who seemed
to be in no hurry
           veterans of history
content to treat time
           with contempt
In many ways
           it was like a film set
in which nothing happens
           or is always about to happen
or has just happened
           and we missed it

I remember the silhouettes
           of the lighthouse and the ruins
of the convent of San Francisco
           when darkness fell—
the chill stillness of the night
           broken by the sound
of distant laughter
           an echo from a different age

And I remember other things
           I’d rather forget

John Lyons

Generation

irlandesuk poetry

Generation

Father mother
           daughter son
each in his
           or her season
proper to them
           root of the earth
composed of universe
           filtered through fields
of emerald green
           living on the edge of life
that cradle to grave
           precipice

time domesticated
           if only for a time
life to be led not endured
           all abstraction torn down
love an act of touch
           of reaching out
with the sympathetic soul
           the heart of one’s self
to another
           thoughtful
we are after all
           if only for a while
breathing bones
           the tissue of mineral
sexed so as to spring
           from the land
from cultivated soil
           our mouths crammed
with culture
           of one sort or another

Yes she is my flower
           my chosen one
whom I raise to my lips
           whose body I draw
close to mine
           whose head rests
on my breast
           one day we will all
be raw rock
           but until that time
before the shadows descend
           we are bound to love
take comfort
           from the brilliance of flesh
love that is
           both cause and effect

John Lyons

Love song

irlandesuk poetry

Love song

a man and a woman
           is not a dream
is not a figment
           bound by stars
it is a love path
           that brooks
no betrayal
           is honest
as the day is long
           a man and a woman
is not an appetite
           hunger soon passes
thirst too
           love never

there may be
           a fragrant mutuality
a bonding of pheromones
           there may even be
a web of enigma
           such that the lustre
is never lost
           the mystery
of attraction
           never actually resolved
to the point
           of disillusionment

a man and a woman
           is a distance halved
courage and fidelity
           a raiment of truth
that no dance can undo
           desire that does not
weaken with time
           but stands strong
in the mind of both
           a man and a woman
is an ability to measure
           footsteps and survive
the burial of voices
           days and nights
and sea land and air
           make a man and a woman
only the treachery
           of their own hand
can unmake them
           God help them