poetry

So the pride

irlandesuk poetry

So the pride

So the pride
      
so the ambition

so the greed
      
all these will fail
will fall finally
into the earth’s fissures
when the strands 

of our lives 
      
are unravelled


what is flesh
and what is bone

and what is our mortality
what wealth will carry us

over to the other side
beyond the lanes

of life and death
 ?   

the skin stretched

but the eyes hueless
      
and the tongue still

silent day and night
      
a cinder pile

a taste consumed
      
in ash
 : only love
warm
 in the memory

John Lyons

Lucidities

irlandesuk poetry

Lucidities

The rain falls unpatterned
         through the grey sky
and I think of our language
         the habits of our words
imposed by time
         and by circumstance
the changing seasons
         the state of the nation
the state of our hearts

The orchids are blooming
         white virginal flowers
that open up
         bringing with them
the promise of a softer 
          emotional climate
a throwback to our roots
         something stately
that grows with dignity
         and without affectation
privileged vegetation
         removed from the risks
of its natural environment

And how the day breaks
         a kernel of light
that expands within the darkness
         illuminating all that will
one day pass
         into eternal darkness
No habit or procedure
         can save us from that
but the lucidities
         of love and beauty and truth
render the transience
         of all the passes
immaterial

John Lyons

Rimbaud

irlandesuk poetry

Rimbaud

What emerges
         from this deep season
of confusion
         but a soul dissolved
in the light
         of misaligned stars
one who would hanker
         for a piece of forever
lost in the mind forest
         blind to the arcs
of astral fire
         only darkly alive
twisted and torn
         by the loveflesh
pitted against
         an obsolete future

Here I stoop
         to guzzle at the rain
to commit this tract
         of time to words
and tear off the hollow
         masks of the night

All that is unborn
         the leastful breathing grace
 that lived on the welfare
         of passion
No meaning where none
         intended

John Lyons

Hiatus

irlandesuk poetry

Hiatus

Those gaps so precious
          not to be wasted
dangling time
         the cusp of arrivals
and departures
         the moment before
the rose blooms
         or dinner is served

We should be alive
         to dead time
seize every moment
          : savour
doing nothing
         it really is our us-time
to fill with thoughts
         of love and memories
of love and quiet prayers
         for ever greater love
No such thing
         as waiting : there is
only living and breathing
          we’re here for the ride
until it grinds
         to an untimely halt

John Lyons

Being

irlandesuk poetry

Here’s the latest poem from our occasional contributor, Molly Rosenberg.

Being

Humming birds hover
Incessant flutter of wings
Frequent sips of nectar sweetness
Vital for the life they lead
But I just want to be.
Life mapped out
Months in black and white
No room for diversion
Another concert
Dinner
         Party
                  Event
On and on
Like waves pounding
The soft silvery sand

A line drawn
On the beach
In my head
Call a halt
Shout STOP
I want to retreat
Need to retreat
To save me.

Calm, tranquility drips
Like honey
From the Humming bird
She returns to her nest
To rest and just be
Like me.

Molly Rosenberg

The main event

irlandesuk poetry

The main event

A white October sky
         as the day disentangles
from the cool night
         If there were stars
I failed to see them
         or an eclipse of the moon
I missed that too
         The day ahead
will be full and pleasing
         and will end in deep
satisfaction when we meet
         We are hours away
from each other
         but the time will soon pass
because that’s what times does
         it passes leaving barely a trace
but for the love
         we manage to live

At the moment
         as I sip my morning coffee
I am staring into space
         the space through which
I will drift
         until we are together again 
under our very own patch of sky 
         beneath which we are  
for each other at least
         the main event

John Lyons

 

Sunday

irlandesuk poetry

Sunday

Sunday in the slow lane
late autumn sunshine
river flowing gently
out to sea
soft voices
the gentle telling
of time
Poetry is a meeting
of minds
or should I say
poetry has a mind
of its own
and the poetry
is in the words
just as love
is in the making
and doing
Words activated
by the mind
take on a life
of their own
the deep blue
of the sky
may not last forever
but it will recur
just as roses are
occasional visitors
to our tables
and there is hope
in the rise and fall
of petals

Welcome this poem

irlandesuk poetry

Welcome this poem

Welcome this poem
         into the world
on its first morning
         a mild October day
with a little drizzle
         people out on the street
milling round
         :  young families
a child calling out
         to her parents
the gentle chatter
         of friendship
the easy Saturday drift
         with no plans and
no agenda

I lie there listening
         as life goes by
think of the starry foam
         of outer space
and the intimate life
         of my innermost thoughts
how in so many respects
         I am a mystery to myself
greater perhaps
         than the greatest
questions the universe holds

The slow seamless cloud
         hangs over the city
but it does not oppress :
         the day has been so far
generous with its delights
         words have come and gone
and I have the absolute feeling
         of knowing what I know
and I’m aware too
         of the shifting parameters
of my ignorance
         There comes a point
when I really don’t care
         and feel that perhaps
understanding is overrated

Welcome this poem
         into the world
and please don’t give it
         a hard time
Let’s all act
         as though we were angels
as though we are angels
         in the hope that one day
we might truly be

John Lyons

Mindfulness

irlandesuk poetry

Mindfulness

The blackness of the night
         is slowly lifting
and a world is reappearing
         before my eyes
a world I sometimes live in
         when I’m not buried
within the confines
         of my mind

The world is often
         such a cold hostile place
while my mind
         is safe and cosy
and full of the things I like
         pleasant thoughts
and the imprint
         of the people I love

Sometimes of course
         it’s quite the reverse
and I’m more than happy
         to escape
from the clutches
         of total recall
free from the memory
         of all my sins of omission
and commission
         then I’m relieved
to get out
         into the endlessly
distracting world
         and leave the aches
and pains of my past
         behind

John Lyons

Before too long

irlandesuk poetry

Before too long

Where is the sun
         I ask
on a day like today
         when I needed it most
sensitive as I am
         to the passing years
to the many selves
         of myself
threaded one after another
         through the thin twine
of my history

A cool grey sky
         is not what I need
to lift my spirits
         to enable me
to put the past
         behind me
I have known roses
         and fallen petals
I have crossed deserts
         under a frenzy of stars
I have held my breath
         in my hand
as the frost nipped
         at my exposed flesh

Love :
         that too I have known
that too I have won
         that too I have lost
Love of the serpent
         that laid in wait for me
under a pile
         of autumn leaves :
the nails were thorns
         and they tore
into my heart

Where is the sun today
         I have a number
of separate selves
         that I need to reconcile
a little warmth
         would go a long way
a little love and a little
         less conversation

The hollowness
         of numbers
I’ve been counting
         the zeroes for years
a close shave
         under time’s blade

John Lyons