poetry

This welcome rain

irlandesuk poetry

This welcome rain
       for which the earth
has so long thirsted
       the dust it will dissolve
and drain away
       leaving the streets
refreshed and the grass
       greener and the trees
in the ancient woodland
       majestically resplendent

Each day is a page turned
       in this life-script
and sometimes I marvel
       at the distance I have travelled
since I sang as a child
       and gathered chestnuts
in autumns past
       and such a long time
in which to grow old
       in my young heart

A frame a time frame
       in which to fit
a pretty picture
       cheekbones and long
flowing sable hair
       and hazel eyes
a breathless beauty
       and however much love
a man and woman can live
       and never tire

John Lyons

The lie of the land

irlandesuk art, poetry

noirjean
         The lie of the land, John Lyons (9 x 13 cm collage)

This is what it’s like
       to be caught
in the warp and weft
       of being
the fabric of our existence

We have needs
       beyond our means
dreams that may be
       dashed
and we fear above all
       the loss of love

Our lives are filled
       with equipment and devices –
so many things we no longer
       know how to do for ourselves
our homes have become
       territories which we guard
with our lives
       we have become investments
and pander to so many idols
       blinding ourselves
to the work of angels
       who move constantly among us

Perfection is there
       in the webs of spiders
in nature’s silk
       in the beauty of roses
or the soaring flight
       of sparrowhawks

But there are no vacancies
       in the natural world
and none need apply
       creation has its work to do
its solar systems to build
       while we are tasked
with something quite simple
       merely to love and
to allow ourselves
       to be loved

John Lyons

Gateway to love

irlandesuk art, poetry

gate
        Gateway to love, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

Sometimes the best poetry
       for the moment is composed
of silence : just as sparrows
       do not sing all day long
a pause a respite a lull
       is always welcome
rather than
       a glut or an excess

Broad margins
       of white space
a huge empty sky
       blue by all accounts
waves of transparent air
       shifting imperceptibly
a kind of nothingness
       of fulfilment

What I want to tell you
       is. . .
but it can wait
       just allow me to be
the one beside you
       basking in your beauty
loving you wordlessly without
       so much as a sigh

John Lyons

Once in a while

irlandesuk poetry

Once in a while
a story within a story
a life within a life
with leaves falling
and wet pavements
and early morning mists
and the memory of chestnuts
roasted over an open fire
and how long it takes
to be a year
with so much hope

Once in a while
all is well with the world
and things fall into place
and the time is ripe
and nobody notices
the passing hours
and here is a bridge
crossing the river Seine
where on a summer’s day
we paused
and held each other
in a gentle embrace

Once in a while
there is not much further
to go before nightfall
and contentment is the order
of the day and we are pleased
with ourselves
and what we have achieved
the pleasures we have taken
the short and the long
and not a chance missed
and love is as endless
as a piece of string

John Lyons


What a difference a day makes

irlandesuk poetry

Seen from my window
       a dragonfly and
a cabbage white
       both aimless drifters
in the early autumn sun –
       they know that winter
is coming they sense it
       in their bones
in the state of play
       around them and
there appears to be
       an urgency in their flight
a desire perhaps to make
       the last of the hay
while the sun shines
       the best of it at least

Today is Tuesday
       and as good a day
as any to live it up –
       whatever time means
to these creatures
       there are still only
twenty-four hours in a day
       and the difference
a day makes may be
       between life and death

John Lyons

The poetic vocation

irlandesuk poetry

I put my back into it
have done so for years
as long as I can remember
I am a poet by the seat
of my pants a verbal
construction worker
I keep my eyes peeled
my job being to notice
and to say what I see
and to make sense
of my senses

Am I always sure
of where I’m heading ?

No

I feel my way through life
I lay myself open
and I have known
joy and pain and have
learnt to distinguish
one from the other

Sometimes the poetry
is in the detail
a robin a sparrow
and angel on the street corner
sometimes it’s
in the moment
a kiss a birth

On most days I go
for the low hanging fruit
occasionally I excel myself
very occasionally
when I reach for the heights
Every number is a fragment
of infinity and so I live the life –
in my heart there’s always room
for more love
Poetry is for those who have
time on their hands

John Lyons

What lifts the grey day

irlandesuk poetry

What lifts the grey day
       out of sadness
is the beauty of thought
       of word or of deed
the beauty that is inherent
       in being or what poets call
beauty’s beauty
       the sheer breath of life
the pure flesh of a face
       that smiles and utters
words of love
       womb-innocent children
whose thirst for knowledge
       is in itself endless adventure

John Lyons

Brief lives

irlandesuk poetry

vanessa

Farewell Vanessa atalanta
farewell my admirable
red admiral – beloved mariner
of the summer skies
your brief life lived
on gilded mealy wings

From nettle patch
to wooded nettle patch
your days so brief
have brought such joy

So the lavender
so the wilted lilies
so the intricacies of all
that is dust by dust
shall be reclaimed

Under moonlight
under autumn mists
a final dalliance
and you’ll be gone

Such is the way of the world
within a rose’s memory
what love there is
what love there was
all things must pass

John Lyons

The passing of flowers

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

dressed

There is no aim
       to clean cut flowers –
to be frank they are
       an unnecessary need
We place them
       upon pedestals
we water them
       with affection
we say we love them
       we admire them
from all angles
       they centre our rooms
and light up the hours
       of our lives that are
themselves mere petals : and
       when their stems droop
and their blooms
       fall apart we mourn
their passing just as
       we mourn the passing
of our loves and all things that
       must necessarily pass

John Lyons

Sweet bird-of-paradise

irlandesuk poetry , ,

bird-of-paradise

Bird-of-paradise
       more than meets the eye
stiff erect leathery leaves
       bluish green with perhaps
a red midrib
       held aloft on a long petiole

the orange and blue flowers
       have two erect pointed petals
and five stamens :
       the flower bract is shaped
like a boat
       with green and red borders
—it bears fruit capsules
       containing numerous seeds

An angel masquerading
       as exotic flora
its role is to induce calm
       in the eye of the beholder
so much effortless beauty
       rising out of the earth
its silence announces
       that all will be well and that
wherever it is present
       there will be peace and love

John Lyons