poetry

To outshine the stars

irlandesuk poetry

Again I ask
       how many dawns ?
I wake to rain
       pelting the roof tiles
to a dawn chorus
       sung slightly off-key
to a damp world
       and the muffled sound
of trains rattling
       through the distance

We all have places to go
       and places to stay
and bridges to cross
       before we put the past
behind us and seek
       to atone
for all the errors
       all the mistakes

Only in the immaculate darkness
       do the stars shine
and last night before I slept
       I counted them and felt
at peace with their pulse
       running through me :
imperfect though we are
       they are there to guide us
to fill us with a necessary
       sense of purpose – namely
to make love and in so doing
       to shine

John Lyons

A sparrow’s breath

irlandesuk poetry

What looks the same
       is never the same
the rose the butterfly
       the tall poppies
swaying in the breeze
       the sparrow alighting
for a moment
       on the garden fence

All things are in flux
       from the subatomic
universe to the stars
       motion and emotion
what moves us literally
       and in the heart
what’s set in stone
       moves in time

Love struggles
       against the tide
but love too in time
       will fade will wither
under the weight of years
       surviving solely
in the hope
       to be reborn

John Lyons

Faith in my hands

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

simplified

                       Simplified, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

My hands tanned
       mottled and freckled
have aged but not grown old
       an absurdity I know
but it is as if
       for reasons unknown
they have been spared
       the ravages of time

I observe them
       this way and that
hold them up
       to the light
relieved that they are
       still fit for purpose
secure too in the knowledge
       that neither the right
nor the left one
       will ever betray me

John Lyons

Killer instinct

irlandesuk poetry

brown trout

A brown trout moves
through shallow waters
drags its shadow
across the fine gravel

Doused in sunlight
its plump dappled body
thrusts as a single muscle
mouth wide and gills flared

In the stillness
in the silence
the young mayfly
stands no chance

John Lyons

Ancient history

irlandesuk poetry


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





That’s life

irlandesuk poetry

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

irlandesuk poetry

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

irlandesuk poetry

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

irlandesuk art, poetry, Tate Modern , ,

Scott4
        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

irlandesuk poetry

bark

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