poetry

Three’s a crowd

irlandesuk art, poetry

spiral
         Three’s a crowd, John Lyons (acrylic on paper)

We’re all winning
we’re alive
for the time being

I could sit here all day
and count squirrels
running across the tops
of the garden fences
or the coming and going
of magpies and pigeons
sometimes gathering
on the garden furniture
sometimes on the shed roof

or the black and white cat
that pads around
in a world of its own
daydreaming
of something fun to chase
tiny rodents for example

Yesterday a fox
sitting proudly
on a pile of earth
surveying its domain
taking a break
from the family

Today is Sunday
a slow news day –
she might have written
I’d hoped she would
but she didn’t

John Lyons

My words are love

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

Autumn
           Autumn, John Lyons (acrylic on paper)

a line taken from
a poem by Frank O’Hara
who describes
the stubbornness
of his feelings
that simply won’t
shift no matter what

Is art ever
anything but
an act of love ?

I leave this
to the reader
to figure out

John Lyons

The quality of light

irlandesuk art, poetry

starleaf
             Starleaf, John Lyons (acrylic on paper)

Well here we are
       and what are we going to do ?
It’s not as though the questions
       ever change just the seasons
that rotate and the leaves fall
       and we look each other
in the eye and ask ourselves
       how long can this go on ?

And yet we have learned
       to read the universe
like a book and we know
       that falling leaves
are star fragments
       that energy and mass
are bosom buddies
       that nothing ventured
is ever lost in the infinite
       sum of things and that
love has the quality of light
       which never fades

John Lyons

Year ending

irlandesuk poetry

That perfect stillness
that silence broken
only by the occasional
plaintiff note of birdsong
the sky grey
the trees on the horizon
in various stages of undress
some leaves turned to gold
others to copper
still others to a green
drained of all life
pollen has been replaced
by dry dust and grime
I hear the drone
of a jet plane lost
in the dense cloud cover

When a heart is broken
it continues to beat
for a while before it dies
when the year is ending
there is always hope
that the next one will be
better in every respect

John Lyons

Falling out

irlandesuk poetry ,

Black winter sky
       filled with stars
signature
       of the urban universe
and life-long focus
       of our gaze
all we ever wished for
       from cradle to grave

I am an anthology
       of hopes and dreams
I am a timeline
       noted all the times
that I have loved
       noted all the times
that I have lost
       and still the stars
lurking in the cool skies
       and I carry
my transparent self
       from day to day through
this imponderable world
       and bring flowers
when appropriate
       warm roses and daffodils
whenever love is in season –
       a gondola on the Grand Canal
the ride we never took
       together at least

Memories of darkness
       and light as the Carnival
exploded before our eyes
       You were one of the most
beautiful things in the world
       and you put Renaissance art
to shame with your smile
       and yet your heart
did not bear scrutiny
       and being tentatively in love
you slipped and stumbled
       out of it again

John Lyons

Paul Éluard – Clouds in my hands

irlandesuk art, poésie, poetry ,

Man Ray

This confused despair
Impalpable source rainy night
Far from burgeoning leaves
Far from salubrious tears
This disdain of the Orient
This livid paradise
This backtracking
Exhausted unbeliever
Towards a handful of memories

The miracle cure accords gift trust.

From Les mains libres (1937), drawings by Man Ray

Des nuages dans les mains
Ce désespoir confus
Source impalpable nuit de pluie
Loin des feuilles naissantes
Loin des larmes salubres
Ce dédain de l’orient
Ce paradis livide
Cette marche en arrière
Incrédule exténuée
Vers quelques souvenirs

Le remède miracle accord cadeau confiance.

Heron

irlandesuk poetry

A black-crested
       long-necked
long-legged
       freshwater heron
perched on a suburban
       rooftop

motionless
       but for its eyes
it surveys the horizon
       unmoved by all it sees

blackbirds and pigeons
       and sparrows and magpies
crowd the empty air space
       but the heron scarcely blinks

One wonders what
       is on its mind
and how far it is
       from home and whether
herons indeed
       do ever get lost

John Lyons

A love song

irlandesuk poetry

In the thousand small places
       of myself and of my name
in the growth of passions
       of interests and abilities
of successes and failures
       in all the one-by-one days

and the one-by-one nights
       when flowers bloomed
and before those flowers faded
       in every moment of intimacy
and despite the solitary pain
       of unfolding distance

in every meadow crossed
       and upon every river sailed
at every waking hour
       whether observed or deep
into my dreams I have
       heard you in the song

of sparrows and finches
       and held you in my heart
and will do so for however
       many months and years
remain knowing that in love
       all things are for the best

John Lyons

An idle world

irlandesuk poetry

The first heavy frost
of the season
windows and roofs
and ponds all iced up

I notice the silence
of the birds
the stillness
in the garden –

the cats must be
having a lie in
the plump foxes
are nowhere

to be seen
Sometimes it’s
an idle world and
that’s a good thing

John Lyons

Times unsung

irlandesuk art, poetry

buff titanium
         Buff titanium, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

Time is distance
and distance is also
unused time

How wasteful of us
to be apart
our hands
our arms
our lips pointless
in this drought
of love

Dreams that have gone
their separate ways
rose petals that unfold
in a wilderness of dust

It was invention
that kept us together
a shared language
of gestures

This coldness
is a failure
of the imagination
this silence
the kiss of death

John Lyons