poetry

A future to remember

irlandesuk poetry

A future to remember

It rained in the night
           and today has dawned
dull and unpromising
           there are murky puddles
in the street where a few
           deposits of sunlight have gathered
I can’t quite see my face
           in any of them

My mind goes back
           to a day when as a boy
I was sitting
           on the front door steps
thinking to myself
           that I’d like a future to remember
Has it really
           come to this ?

Last Friday I cut
           through the woods :
there were young children
           playing on the grass
I saw two swallows fly overhead
           but couldn’t tell if
they were heading south
           I’ve known these woods
since my early school days
           and over the years
many trees have fallen
           and many risen again
but it all looks
           the same to me

At night
           when I close my eyes
I dream of love
           and how that might make
for a future to remember
           above all else

John Lyons

Notre Dame at twilight

irlandesuk poetry

Notre Dame at twilight

Dusk comes gently
           in the city of light
where the shadows soften
           as they gather around
the charred ribs
           of the wounded cathedral

Pleasure boats continue
           to the ply the river
but the passengers
           are subdued
passing beneath the bridge
           with barely a sigh

And along the quays
           lovers stroll hand in hand
Who knows what promises
           they make when they pause
either to kiss or to gaze
           into the clear grey waters ?
And who knows what promises
           will be kept ?

John Lyons

Italian strawflower

irlandesuk poetry

strawflowers

Italian strawflower

Intense fragrance
           of the immortelle
clusters of yellow flowers
           that retain their aroma
-reminiscent of wormwood-
           long after picking
Life in all its glory
           beauty in every detail
an inflorescence
           that never dies

What it has taught us
           is that to be alive is good
that to practise virtue
           on behalf of others
beatifies our breath
           that hands are instruments
of the heart
           that love is a call to action
and that through us
           the voice moves words
to express compassion
           and tenderness

John Lyons

 

The final betrayal

irlandesuk poetry

The final betrayal

Watched the day descend
           into night
different shades of blue and light
           and lilac
and a soft rosy hue that simmered
           just above the horizon

Saw the tree line
           turn to dark silhouette
heard the birds’ final evensong
           and watched
as pale clouds sped south
           and in my heart
I put her final betrayal
           behind me

John Lyons

Lawless love

irlandesuk poetry

shelley

Lawless love

As poets
           we are keepers
of the wonders
           of the human world
of space and matter
           of time and mind

Our songs are
           to renew
and strengthen
           all failing hope

All things are recreated
           and the flame
of consensual love
           inspires all life

John Lyons

With words taken from the poetry of Shelley (1792-1822)

Endgame

irlandesuk poetry

Endgame

The patter of rain after days
           of unbroken sunshine
grey skies and a hush
           across the world
birdsong silenced
           and the foxes snug
in their burrows
           As shadows shelter
beneath oak and ash
           I marshal my dreams
and plan for a future
           without her

John Lyons

Yes culture too is breath

irlandesuk poetry

Yes culture too is breath

Yes culture too is breath
           and all breath comes
from the stars
           and we know
that when the breath cools
           it’s time to move on

She will withhold her kisses
           and in her eyes there will be
disdain and she will glance
           away into the future 
toward the life she has planned
           for your absence

Passion is our birthright
           and we are born
to hold one another
           in our arms
and our words are there
           to console in times of grief
to support in times of distress
           and to express the love
that never dies when it is
           true love

John Lyons

Natural philosophy

irlandesuk poetry

Natural philosophy

On the footpath
           in the garden yesterday
a butterfly settled
           its wings raised
so that only
           the dark underside showed

At first I had mistaken it
           for a leaf
but though there was
           a gentle breeze
the butterfly did not move
           not even the slightest tremor :
it stood its ground
           for ten minutes or more
and I wondered whether
           this was not an extravagance
to idle away
           such a stretch of time
given the brevity
           of its life

But there perhaps
           was the lesson it was
unwittingly there
           to deliver to me
and to you dear reader
           without a care in the world

John Lyons

The intermittences of the heart – Marcel Proust

irlandesuk poetry, translation ,

“For the intermittences of the heart are closely linked to the troubles of memory. Without doubt, it is the existence of our body, to us akin to a jar in which our spiritual nature is enclosed, that leads us to suppose that all our inner wealth, our past joys, all our sorrows, are perpetually in our possession.” (translation by John Lyons)

A thought for the day, taken from Marcel Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu. Proust’s monumental exercise in voluntary memory, in which he seeks to reclaim the narrative of his past life. The work is permeated with episodes of involuntary memory, some ecstatically joyful, others full of the pain of loss and lost love.

Disjecta Membra

What are our memories
           but living thoughts
and feelings
           our minds a ragbag
of experiences
           of hopes and dashed
expectations
           of moments of tenderness
set against the shifting veil
           of darkness and light
and that never-ending tussle
           between precision
perfection
           and sheer chaos

John Lyons 

A certain idea of order

irlandesuk poetry

A certain idea of order

There is unity
           and there is particularity
a universe put together
           from a handful of building blocks
There is the sky and the sea
           and swallows come and go
filling our latitude with
           their grace and beauty
without ever overstaying
           their welcome

And she who sings in the dark
           whose voice is heard in my soul
whose unembittered gestures trace
           patterns of affection in my life
a summer without end
           a body drawn from the dust of stars
whole and intemperate in her passion
           the sound of love present
in every articulation
           she strides daily into my life

John Lyons