poetry

Hiroshima Mon Amour

irlandesuk poetry ,

Hiroshima Mon Amour

The green water is flat
and barely moving
its shimmering surface
carries the liquid reflection
of a couple

it is any time
any place where lovers
might be observed
there is silence
they are embracing

kisses are timeless
infinitesimal hiccups
in the senseless exploding
universe

but they are also
purpose
energies directed
pianissimo
from the heart

they are also language
wordless articulations
a commonwealth of feelings
of shared emotions
as if nothing else
matters in the world

John Lyons

Revised

Lost in words

irlandesuk poetry

Lost in words

After the violent storm
           the silence
the stillness
           a period of recuperation
strolling at night
           beneath the stars
little movement
           in the trees
no birdsong
           the moon not visible
a pleasant temperature
           a lightness in our steps

How easy it is at times
           to be human
and yet at other times less so
           our shifting lives
and the treacherous illusions
           of our logic

Heavy thoughts
           when the soul is hurt
when love has been
           withdrawn
and we become
           lost in words
when our pain
           has nowhere to turn

John Lyons

Revised

Les Illuminations

irlandesuk art, poetry ,
Unfinished II
Eggshell, John Lyons (oil on canvas)

Les Illuminations

Bursts of lightning
           scattering the darkness
thick drops of rain
           beating against the pane

I stare out
           across the green horizon
: yesterday a butterfly
           today a moth
come to bury its eggs
           in her cashmere

she counts her trinkets
           under an atrocious moon
a sad child squats
           in silence

John Lyons

Where blood thickens

irlandesuk poetry

Where blood thickens

This is where the blood thickens
with time with age
with hair losing its natural colour
with skin becoming dry
and lined with the bitter-sweet
badges of experience

This is where the only lessons learnt
are self-taught and remembrance
threatens to overwhelm
with constant impulses to return
to what was in any case
dysfunctional and unsatisfactory
out of keel and unbalanced

it takes skill to live life
with passion whilst not offending
justice and good sense
nor to be duped
by honey-tongued princesses
Recall the calves
the thick varicose veins
the spent knees
and the multiplicities of indifference

You who are needful of a human life
grasp it while you can
be muscular in your pursuit of love
fearless in your acts of pleasure
repay tenderness in kind
and seek what wisdom lies
deep behind the eyes
remember too that the rose
once dwelt in the stars
as did its thorns
as did your bones
and hers too

John Lyons

Tunes on an old guitar

irlandesuk poetry

Tunes on an old guitar

So that’s life
things as they are
the days and the hours
love and its absence
melody and monotone
restless fingers plucking
at an old guitar
the buzz of flies
around what is dead
the buzz of bees
around bounteous nectar

things as they are
such as desire
such as love
such as consummation
such as indifference
such as loss
the nothing-changingness
of abandonment

hence the poets’
drifting ships
and he who stoppeth
one in three
a life that leans
into the shadows
ducks to avoid
the scrutiny of light
steers by way
of wayward stars
head floundering
in the clouds

things as they are
or were
the leaden lips
of a dead kiss
memories taken
by the throat
poetry a work
of the mind
things as they are
or as they were
once
but enough

John Lyons

The vernacular of light

irlandesuk poetry

The vernacular of light

Attuned to the eloquence of light
and shifting shades of darkness
all our perceptions coloured
by subtle changes of circumstance

a poetry steeped in mindful inflections
number breath and melody
the immense orchestration of life
whether in the busy thoroughfares
or simply contemplating an empty
landscape or watching the foamy sea
sift through sand on the shore

there were thirteen blackbirds
all of which took to the air
spread wings and flew out
beyond the poem back to where
they belonged in the innocence
of non-judgmental nature
poetry : the sacrament of praise

John Lyons

Had a mind 

irlandesuk poetry

Had a mind 

I had a mind to love you
           but you wouldn’t let me
you dyed your honey hair
           to defy your age
and painted your nails
           to add allure to each gesture
I had a mind to love you
           but you wouldn’t let me

How often we huddled close
           as the sharp wind blew 
alongside the river sending shudders
           into the night

How often did I draw you in
           for a kiss and in jest
and when you smiled
           the moon shone
and your dyed hair became
           fibres of light and your nails
glistened and just for a moment
           it seemed that you loved me
but you didn’t
           because you couldn’t

I had a mind to love you
           and a body of blood
in which to wrap your soul
           but you wouldn’t let me

John Lyons

Revised

Prelude to the day

irlandesuk art, poetry
dawn of time
Dawn of time, John Lyons (oil on canvas)

Prelude to the day

Instances of what we are
           shifting portraits
temporal illusions
           dressed for the occasion
in which context is all

The sea retains the memory
           of creatures that crawled
onto dry land and evolved
           into the open air
our beginnings like all
           fresh starts
humble and grateful
           for the opportunity to grow

We pray for the gift of music
           for the gift of words
for the gift of love
           for the gift of human solidarity
for the fragrance of flesh
           freely given freely taken
for the imagination
           to move forward
leaving the past behind
           old lessons learnt

We despise effigies
           and make our monuments
from the moment
           we despise all that is feigned
that reeks of indifference
           and phoney affections

The authenticity of life
           demands
that love be genuine
           that it should never be betrayed
and that the tongue
           should be generous in its praise
of true beauty
           and all earthly freedoms

John Lyons

The poet’s melodeon

irlandesuk poetry ,

ocean

The poet’s melodeon

How constant this ocean
           gnawing day in day out
at the rock face : at night
           clouds move across the sky
their progress tracked
           by whales who keep
to the shadows cast
           by the moonlight

Blue waters by day
           time barely ruffled in the breeze
curls of light finely shaved
           a virtuoso performance
in which we are all the players
           the crash of cymbals
and the roar of horns
           here at our birthplace

Think of Wallace Stevens
           his obsession with melody
and with number
           his mother’s fingers
on the keyboard
           the silence of his bass voice
as he composed his poetry
           delving deep into his emotions
remembering the blue silk
           the clear warm evenings
the homeliness of life
           the beauty behind every breath
whispers of immortality
           in the mute nights
fitful tracings overlaid
           with love

John Lyons

Revised

The blue and white day

irlandesuk poetry

The blue and white day

A significant landscape
one in which you are present
or another in which your absence is noted
in which there is a snow-capped mountain
and a blue lake
and ants crawl across a dusty path
marking time

one in which the sun appears
or the moon
and an infinite number of stars
a silent landscape
or one in which the wind howls
and tall trees shake
a landscape in which
you might one day reappear

one in which your days
were once filled with love
before that too passed
along with faith and hope
and left you emotionally
destitute