poetry

Good morning

irlandesuk poetry ,

Good morning

There’s a sparrow on the wall
           singing its heart out
a tiny sparrow that sings
           all day long barely stopping
to feed or take a sip of water

it’s there every day
           the same sparrow
I can tell from its cheery voice
           to which I have become
quite accustomed

rain or shine the sparrow
           is always around
to brighten my day
           with its uplifting
little threnody

a tiny sparrow
            cited in scripture
as a paragon
           of insignificance
in the vast scheme
           of creation :
a vile slur

more passion in that tiny bird
           than many people I know
and you Lesbia my supposed lover
           so far away
send me a cool message
           just two dull words :
good morning

John Lyons

Ages

irlandesuk poetry

Ages

In all this poetry
           there is a yearning
for enduring love
           for an incorruptible body
for a commitment
           beyond word or gesture
for a depth of connection
           that transcends the physical

I too have seen the years
           the decades
that have simply unfolded
           for better or for worse
I have lived through
           fractured promises
and half-truths
           been taunted
by surface beauty
           and betrayed by numbers

as far as the eye could see
           orange groves
and flowering fields of sugarcane
           and a vicious dust
that settled in the lungs
           I have seen many things
and been blind to others
           have felt many things
and been insensitive to others
           but I ask you
what have you seen
           and known of the world
what have you known
           of life and love
what have you ever felt
           other than commotion ?

John Lyons

By Putney Bridge

irlandesuk poetry

By Putney Bridge

Down by Putney Bridge
           day slowly descending
into darkness
           river high
but not unduly
           temperature falling
but not that cold
           joggers back and forth
ducks and geese
           on the causeway
first lights of the evening
           watching the waters flow
thinking of you
           wishing you were here

John Lyons

Light

irlandesuk poetry ,

Light

Put out the light
           and put out the light
nothing metaphorical about it
           light is life
light of my life
           and lovelessness
a dark state
           flowers that spread
their petals by day
           that close down at dusk

Androsthenes
           friend of Alexander the Great
324 BC
           observed that the leaves
on the tamarind tree
           opened and closed
from day to night :
           the phytochromatic
properties of plants
           that alter to feed
on red or far red light
           the spectrum of love
that lies beneath the surface
           that moves all things

Love too is process
           warmth 
enlightenment that feeds into life
           nourishes the heart
summer goes winter goes
           love remains

John Lyons

Cosmic moon

irlandesuk poetry , ,

Cosmic moon

In the still night
           a bright moon seen
from my window on the world
           full almost
but shrouded in mist
           and I think
what silence
           before the stars were born
what emptiness
           before the appearance of space
what an eternity
           before the first pulse of time
a lightless lovelessness
           beyond comprehension
without word or tongue
           or creed or earthly ambition
pure nothingness
           no birth
no exhumation
           no mortal lullabies of pain
no narrowing lust for gold
           no blissful palpitations
in the blood
           no dust unto a dust
to return
           no breathing grace
no thing
           no no

John Lyons

Battle of Britain

irlandesuk poetry

Battle of Britain

Suddenly out of nowhere a flock
           of rose-ringed parakeets appears
above the trees : these beautiful
           hardy tropical birds have adapted
to our cooler climate
           and love nothing more than to scavenge
for buds and berries in our back gardens
           For a moment they settle on the top
of a tall conifer and the air is alive
           with their endless raucous chatter
then one launches into the air
           into a long sinuous graceful glide
and one by one the others follow
           then they scatter in pairs
one chasing the other
           playing spitfires
playing tag
           before reassembling once more
in the upper branches
           of the same conifer
and for a moment they are still
           perhaps catching their breath

These birds are true survivors :
           out of the blue news arrives
of a fresh food source
           and the squadron scrambles
into the air
           and they are gone

John Lyons

Burnt stars

irlandesuk poetry

Burnt stars

Burnt stars in the heavens
           and cosmic dust falling
through the universe :
           it’s on our streets
and on our roofs
           this debris
from the dawn of creation
           and in our hearts
there is ambition
           for love and for success

/ to be measured
           on what scale ? /

Desire has us
           all of a fever
and yet we know how soon
           the liquid hours will pass
each day is a flicker
           each night a fading flower
and summer soon elapses
           into the weary web of winter

Hers is the heart that beats
           hers the lip of love
hers the shadow of a dream
           an invasive solitude
hers is the body of music
           at which my fingers clutch
and in my mouth
           a taste of ash
ocean air in my blood
           dilapidated life

John Lyons

Miracle

irlandesuk poetry

Miracle

That your body has been built
           cell by cell
fed on the food of light
           every fibre of your being
formed from a meticulous
           array of atoms
that every phrase
           or syllable you utter
is conceived in a mind
           made of mineral matter
that all the love you ever make
           results from a collusion of molecules
your hunger your thirst your desire
           all stem from variants
of carbon and oxygen
           that your spirit is
in its own way
           as solid as a rock
and far less ethereal
           than the air you breathe

I am the medium
           I am the journey of myself
I am the dawn to dusk of my life
           my cradle to the grave
the sum of all kisses given
           the sum of all kisses received
though I move beyond the circle
           it is my circumference
I am whatever roses
           my hands have held
I am whatever thorns
           have pierced my skin
I am the architect
           of my would-be paradise
I only ask you to join me
           in its construction

John Lyons

Rare flower

irlandesuk poetry , ,

Rare flower

Rare flower soaked
           in the summer rain
the wind will outlive you
           your petals will wither
and fall and your dust
           will be a distant memory

though you hale
           from a proud corridor
of stars your beauty
           will not survive the season
of salmon rising

dragonflies will buzz
           above your head
indifferent to your charms
           and through the black night
you will feel abashed
           in the shadow of the rose

there is no wisdom in old age
           merely senescence
a paltry figure in a tattered coat
           as the poet would have it
bones that fail and eyes
           out of focus
a limp from day to day

of her he recalls
           how he penetrated the light
how she listened enrapt
           to his song of innocence
and how their hearts were lost
           in a tangle of limbs

rare flower in spring
           do not raise false hopes
do not long for love everlasting
           delight in the bed in which you lie
and know that time will take its revenge
           come what may

John Lyons

Seasons of the heart

irlandesuk poetry

Seasons of the heart

How we move
           from life to life
in a constant state
           of flux and
from love to love
           over the years
but rarely discern
           the pattern
in our life trails
           our love trails
and mirrors fail us
           constantly
being as they are
           merely windows
on our past
           our present past

These fragments
           are annotations to my life
written in the quest
           for understanding
of myself and
           of the world in which
I am immersed :
           as yet there is no whole
just me in parts
           me in moments
I wish only to breathe
           only to love and be loved
if only it were
           that simple

Though I take her
           by the hand
I do not know where
           she will lead me
Love is an act
           of vision
of life trails
           and of love trails
it is a heart
           at the end of exile
a welcome homecoming
           it is what we make it
if we allow ourselves
           the freedom

John Lyons