poetry

Heartwarming art

irlandesuk art, poetry

multicolour

                   Old news, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, mixed media on canvas)

These flowers
this background
these colours
are all old news –
clumsy shapes
that suggest
or hint at objects
in the real world
art being a parallel
fictional insertion

Nevertheless
time will not consume
these petals
although these vivid
hues may fade
under intense
and prolonged sunlight

but the expression
– artless but sincere –
speaks of beauty
and of a world untainted
by corruption

It seeks to please
the eye and warm
the heart of whoever
beholds it

John Lyons

Every word its shadow

irlandesuk art, poetry

gold rose
             Absence, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, mixed media on canvas)

In the absence
in the silence
in the stillness
in all simplicity
where dust falls
where light fades
where night comes
and night goes
and seasons shift
one after another
art endures
with its words
and images

every word
every flower
has its shadow
paper curls away
from the canvas
artificial but
not unreal
it purveys a notion
of timelessness
perhaps of serenity
and yet the colours
lack vibrancy
as though the art
were sleeping
a melancholy dream

what hand tends
these flowers
who observes them
who admires them
this gift of nature ?
beauty that makes
no demands
that soothes the mind
that satisfies the heart
that softens life’s
hard edges
speaks only
of love

John Lyons

Read the text

irlandesuk art, poésie, poetry

blue_roses

Blood-red roses
       against an anaemic sky
artificial petals
       that will never fall
time that will never pass
       hope that will never return
children who will never know
       the joy of peace unless
the sale of arms is suspended
        No flowers for the refugees
no food on their plates
       no light in their eyes

Read the text
       beneath the blooms
between the lines
       foreign aid cut
at the stem
       innocent people left
to wither and die
       for profit

John Lyons

Lisez le texte

Roses couleur de sang
       contre un ciel anémique
pétales artificiels
       qui ne tomberont jamais
un temps qui ne passera jamais
       l’espoir qui ne reviendra jamais
des enfants qui ne sauront jamais
       la joie de la paix à moins que
la vente d’armes ne soit suspendue
       Pas de fleurs pour les réfugiés
pas de nourriture dans leurs assiettes
       pas de lumière dans leurs yeux

Lisez le texte
       au-dessous des fleurs
entre les lignes
       l’aide internationale coupée
à la base
       des innocents abandonnés
au flétrissement et à la mort
       pour le profit

A bouquet of words

irlandesuk art, poetry

roses

A handsome woman
I met on a dark night
we talked some
and we danced some
and I stared into
her winsome eyes

I am a poet I said
I can create words
from other words
Imitation is so
loathsome said she

But I make sense
from my sensibility
I spluttered in reply
vacuums are gruesome
and yet silence on
the occasion of love
is so wholesome
and betrayal
so infantile and
so tiresome

John Lyons

Love’s last intelligence

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

eggshell

Put aside the sad smell of lilacs
and words that spread outwards
to smother the truth of solitude
Beneath this deep eggshell blue
all manner of things might appear
chance and happy circumstance
all that is about to be written

Breathe freedom
an absence of objects
a spacious peace in which
our innate nature may flourish
here is horizon and novelty
made from pigments that arise
out of the earth’s core

We are in the time of roses
we hunger for the nightingale’s song
we who for so long have clutched
at the elements of life
and yet for every failed ambition
for every dashed dream
a single wisdom has sheltered us
and that is that wordless love
articulates the last intelligence

John Lyons

Love’s plea

irlandesuk art, poésie, poetry

pleading

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

This is nowhere
a sketch on canvas
and in oils
of a place that exists
somewhere
in the imagination

It is real enough
but lacks the detail
of the reality
upon which
it is based

However
what it does suggest
is a parting of the ways
perhaps in Robert Frost
country
the road less travelled

What it captures
in its own way
is space and distance
and an immaculate
timelessness

I love the roundness
of the triangular patch
I love the softness
of its edges
and though unfinished
I feel it has a voice
a feminine voice
pleading for love

John Lyons

Plaidoyer d’amour

C’est nulle part
un croquis sur toile
et dans les huiles
d’un lieu qui existe
quelque part
dans l’imagination

C’est assez réel
mais il manque le détail
de la réalité
sur lequel
c’est basé

toutefois
ce qu’il suggère
est une séparation des chemins
peut-être au pays
de Robert Frost
le chemin le moins parcouru

Ce qu’il capture
à sa manière
est l’espace et la distance
et une intemporalité
immaculée

J’aime la rondeur
du patch triangulaire
J’aime la douceur
de ses bords
et bien qu’inachevé
Je sens qu’il a une voix
une voix féminine
et un cri d’amour

Our debris

irlandesuk art, poetry

flowers

        John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, mixed media)

What makes you think
that these are flowers
that they are meant 
for you or for another

ephemera cut
from newsprint
as flowers fade
as petals fall

This composition
is an act of resistance
an attempt to hold back
the passage of time

was our love an illusion
were we mere cut-outs
filling a virtual space
a virtual time

collage of names
of people and places
that constitute
an existence

the life-prints
that we leave
in our wake
our debris

John Lyons

Covid-19 – a meditation

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

flowers
                                               Covid-19, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, mixed media)

From newsprint
these flowers
standing in a vase
daubs of red paint
against a blue
background

How the eye
has its memory
plays tricks on us
creates a virtual
reality
fools us into thinking
fools us into feeling

Take a closer look
news of the pandemic
Covid-19 in faint type
and how the unconscious
brings colours
to the surface
creates unexpected
associations

and there is the light
reflected from the canvas
the bright cadmium hue
that captures today’s
glorious sunshine
tells of the happiness
in my heart

this art
this simple meditation
in times of emergency
is an agent of life
there is hope in shapes
cut with scissors
glued to a surface
that will hang forever
in my heart

John Lyons

Love never known

irlandesuk poésie, poetry

bouc

On a stretch of scrubland
       down by the marshes
bound by two railway tracks
       and a busy road
a elderly billy goat browses :
       grayish-black shaggy coat
long gracefully curved horns
       it exists obliviously
in its pasture of plenty
       has no notion
of the fate
       that awaits it
no recollection
       of when it was a kid
not even grateful
       to be alive

From time to time
       it hears the cuckoo
but makes no connection
       with the spring flowers
On certain clear nights
       it observes the stars
with complete indifference
       lucky or not
of them
       it has no need
love it has never known
       nor its loss

John Lyons

Le vieux bouc   
      
   Sur un tronçon de garrigue    
            au bord des marais    
   bordé par deux voies ferrées    
            et une route très fréquentée    
   un vieux bouc broute :    
            manteau hirsute noir-grisâtre    
   de longues cornes gracieusement courbées    
            il existe inconsciemment    
   dans son pâturage d’abondance    
            n’a aucune notion    
   du destin    
            qui l’attend    
   aucun souvenir    
            de ses jours de chevreau    
   n’est même pas reconnaissant    
            d’être en vie    
      
   De temps en temps    
            il entend le coucou    
   mais il ne fait aucun lien    
            avec les fleurs printanières    
   Par certaines nuits claires    
            il observe les étoiles    
   avec une indifférence totale    
            chanceuses ou pas    
   d’elles    
            il n’en a pas besoin    
   l’amour – il ne l’a jamais connu    
            ni sa perte

Winter roost

irlandesuk poésie, poetry ,

Cold grey morning
       magpies yet to leave
their roost : soon
       as the days lengthen
they’ll be looking
       to build their domed nests

despite their military bearing
       magpies are home birds
reluctant to travel far
       from their stamping ground

though they struggle
       to throw off their bad
reputation
       these playful birds
are innocent
       until proven guilty

John Lyons

Gîte d’hiver

Matin gris froid
       les pies n’ont pas encore
quitté leur perchoir: bientôt
       au fur et à mesure
que les jours s’allongent
       ils chercheront à construire
leurs nids
       en forme de dôme

malgré leur allure militaire
       les pies sont des oiseaux domestiques
réticents à voyager
       loin de leur territoire de prédilection

bien qu’ils luttent
       pour se débarrasser
de leur mal réputation
       ces oiseaux espiègles
sont innocents jusqu’à
       preuve du contraire