The art and understanding
of small children
innocent seeds sown
into the dust
All that grows
flourishes
flowers
that brings beauty
in time
See how the leaves
have burst forth
how spring has renewed
the face of our earth
The remedy
against the clock
is to steep oneself
in art
according to
Zukofsky
to make of life
a long paradise
to cultivate one’s
own garden of eden
Alive loves
John Lyons
And then there is
silence
the blank page
the primed canvas
but every image retained
internally
All the memories
held in the breath
mindfulness
gratitude
for all the love
granted : acceptance
for all the lost love
The story we once
wove hand in hand
before we went
our separate ways
down the age
John Lyons
Face detail in earth pigments, John Lyons
That constant urge
to create—to re-present
the world around us
upon stretched cloth
that grows in the fields
daubed with silica and clay
with manganese
and hydrated iron oxide
We carry these pigments
in our bones
we who have sprung
from the very bones
of the earth
all the hardness
and the softness
of our bodies
and our eyes
devouring everything
we see
shape and colour
texture and weight
our lives a constant
interpretation
of what it means
to be and to live
and to love
John Lyons
Face, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
I know this face
from somewhere
those piercing eyes
looking out from the canvas
There have been subtle shifts
since it last appeared
alterations in the tone—
the cadmium red sharpened
the yellow ochre lightened
the titanium white
slightly buffed to lower
the intensity
I think of this study
as a field or a terrain
out of which an image
emerges organically
much as though
it were alive
I like the uneven
surface of the land
the imperfections
the different shades
and tones
a face from the earth
and of the earth
dust of my dust
which once was
John Lyons
A poem for all seasons
syllables at the ready
sounds good
The subtle shift
from crocuses
to daffodils
as high pressure
settles in across
the continent
We have so much
to be thankful for
yet give such
little thanks : so much
life squandered
to no purpose
It’s not a competition
earth fire water air
belong to us all
No one should
own life : no one
should own death
love should be
our inalienable common
ownership
John Lyons
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Caracas seen from the Milleniumm de Los Dos Caminos Mall
So tall are the buildings that
nothing of my childhood remains to be seen.
I’ve lost my back yard with its slow clouds
where the light dropped ibis feathers,
Egyptian clarities.
I’ve lost my name and the dream of my house.
Rigid walkways, tower upon tower,
now hide the mountain from us.
The din grows a thousand engines per ear,
a thousand cars per foot, all deathly.
Men chase after their voices
but the voices drift
behind the taxis.
More distant than Thebes, Troy, Nineveh
and the fragments of their dreams,
where was Caracas?
I’ve lost my shadow and the feel of its stones.
Nothing of my childhood remains to be seen.
I can grope my way through its streets now
increasingly lonely;
its space is real, unflinching, solid concrete.
only my history is false.
Eugenio Montejo
(translation by John Lyons)
See Eugenio Montejo 21 grams
Landscape with blue sky, John Lyons (70 x 50 cm, oil on canvas)
The fact is
that anything goes
as long as boundaries
are respected
that is to say
the sun and the blue sky
remain above the fields
and farm buildings
Paintings are colourscapes
full of hints and suggestions
Renaissance nativities or crucifixions
have become easy on the eye
imagine now a stage upon which
reds and yellows and blues
and whites dance freely
and follow nothing but
the most basic rules :
seek and you shall find
John Lyons
Third detail, John Lyons (oil on canvas)
The high cheekbones
the shape of the eyes
the thin smile
the unobtrusive ears
the slender neck
her supple feet
The feet of a dancer
trained to pace the floor
with dignity and poise
a frame upon which
fabrics sat elegantly
could bear the weight
of primary colours
had she found
someone to love
she might have
loved him forever
dearly deeply
John Lyons
Further detail, John Lyons (oil on canvas)
The colour of my words
set against a dark grid
behind which the light
struggles to be seen
So many horizons
a maze of directions
that twist and turn
bound by the canvas
My heart has become
a plaything in her hands
she speaks of paradise but
denies me the promised land
John Lyons
Minor detail, John Lyons (oil on canvas)
Figment done
in pigment :
the devil
is in the detail
a composition
to raise a hue
and cry
If you must have it
at least let me see
the colour
of your money
Here there is
light and darkness
within the geometry
of chaos
A representation
of mood
of a life lived
on the hoof
a mere hint at
the hard lines
of the love left
in her wake
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 