It is time to make
some history
to turn a few clocks
forwards a few others
backwards
Observe how all things
in creation moves
with ease
how all things know
their place
the artists at Altamira
knew their place
This was long before
doubt entered the world
To hesitate has become
a human trait
but it was not always so
who dared to offend
the hunter ?
who dared to mistreat
the gatherer ?
who dared to question
the sun and the moon ?
John Lyons
poetry
That’s life
As always
comes the reminder
that things change
that all things are
forever in flux
not a single star
is fixed immobile
in the heavens
neither do the heavens
as such exist
our lives are a curve ball
thrown by who knows whom
and each moment is a tussle
between retention and loss
today rain
tomorrow sunshine
the grass greener
the birdsong softer
and love in the air
John Lyons
Sacrament of praise
Breath and pulse
the warm flesh
the light in her eyes
the laughter on her lips
and a poet skilled
in the sacrament of praise
a champion of life
around whom
wild winds spin
and oceans lap
at shifting sands
and willows are
whipped by the rain
and time weaves
its eternal mysteries
: beauty
that is momentary
in the mind
frail as the tissue
of poppy blooms
torn on the briar’s thorns
a sparrow’s song
a robin bobbing
on the garden fence
a dragonfly that hovers
over the shallow pond
how soon our summers
are spent
our loves
never so
John Lyons
From ash to dust
Under the sycamore
the dry seeds
worn to dust
thousands of them
from a single tree
I sit in the shade
and look out
across the meadow
where away
in the distance
a young couple
is sunbathing
This is still summer
and the leaves
are still green
and their flesh
is still supple
and unmarked
by time
A universe of light
and cinders :
all things turn to ash
and ash to dust
and every memory
will be forgotten
Salad days pass
the young grow old
even language tires
of endless repetition
All things are senseless
all life unless
imbued with love
John Lyons
A bad marriage
A bad marriage, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
There are no abstracts
I paint what I see
sometimes what I see
in the paintings of others
There are no sardines
nor were there ever
but what looks like
some sort of seafood
though there is no blue
nor water no shade of sky
and the composition
is trapped within
a narrow palette
There is a continent
of white and a patch
of dark leather and yet
it amounts to nothing
that we can define
Words and colours
are poor relations
each one jostling
hopelessly
to out-express
the other
John Lyons
The painting illustrated is an unfaithful copy of a painting by William Scott (1913-1989) which can be viewed in Tate Britain.
The innocence of age
On my walk through the park
I notice that the shadows
of the trees themselves have aged
I inspect the corrugated bark
the deep lines on trunk and branch
how time never passes without
leaving an indelible mark
on all things and I marvel at
the wisdom of oak and sycamore
so closely adherent
to the monastic virtue
of stability
If all things pass some do so
at a slower pace than others
so I am content to discount
my dog years and I gaze
defiantly into the mirror—
what is beautiful is perhaps
an acquired taste : I adore
the innocence and energy
of young children who skip
along the paths of their childhood
I know that in time age will
bend their shadows too
that ash and elm will outlive them
that their dreams for a while
will touch the golden moon
until gravity brings them down
to the level earth but that their hearts
will never be still
John Lyons
Life’s sweet nectar
A red admiral flies
among the tall poppies
their bright blooms
dancing in the breeze
the butterfly flits
from flower to flower
as though counting those
that have survived
the night sipping
at the sweet nectar of life
This is not Flanders
but the memory
is never lost
At night the petals
are folded away
tightly closed
within the bud
but the morning light
brings resurrection
as each living flower
bares its open soul
to the sun
John Lyons
The beauty of colour
Burnt Sienna, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
The beauty of colour
of shade and hue
of darkness and light
an uncluttered space
across which the eye
may travel at leisure
take in the air and allow
the mind to wander
with a ripple of emotion
Into this space
a stake has been driven
a subtle ivory black
buried in the canvas
that remains to be
consummated
Almost anything
could occur at this moment
as other gestures as yet unseen
queue to enter the picture
and yet restraint is called for
so as not to overwhelm
this peaceful terrain with a mass
of unwarranted marks
There is still work to be done
but in art as in life as in love
more is often less and less
if often more so let’s wait
and see
John Lyons
The radiance of sunlight
Say that our bodies are beautiful
in the radiance of sunlight
our flesh still warm with the love
we bring to the day
how the regal flow of blood
sets our cheeks aglow
and how we are insatiable for life
As the flower’s beauty is inseparable
from the sum of its parts
each particle plays its part in our being
our intelligence a beacon
amid the arcane mysteries
of cosmos and creation :
how age degrades all things bar love
so that we have nothing to fear
from the edge of the night
nor the silence of daybreak
as long as there is breath on our lips
John Lyons
Corrected text
Where the blood flows
Reproduction, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
Where the blood flows
where the flesh is warm
where darkness never
defeats the light and yet
where the light retains
dark mysteries of how
life will pan out and how
love diminishes all pain
Nothing is ever abstract
every gesture has meaning
every shape and colour
an intentional composition
a cotton canvas from threads
plucked from the earth
stretched on a wood frame
all things deeply rooted
in life and raised up
by the power of light
Figments of my imagination
following the intuitions
I scarcely understand
as I make my way
through life as I stumble
on through love
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 