Love – an artifice of eternity

                       Débris, John Lyons (40 x 40, mixed media on canvas)

The fact is that we grow into our age
a generation among generations

perhaps the flesh tires but the soul never
the spirit that drives us forward

the pursuit not of intellect but of love
whatever lights a fire under our emotions

From conception to birth to our passing
the cycle is relentless and justly so –

no rose or magpie aspires to immortality
though wild salmon run the rapids

to perpetuate their nameless lineage
The day is there for us to behold

the moments for us to savour the delights
of breath and feel the pulse of life

coursing through our veins : a gentle kiss
is all it takes to lift us up to heaven

John Lyons



An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress.
                                W B Yeats


Here where the robin
      the blackbird
and the sparrow once sang
      dappled seaborne clouds
hasten across the sky
      bringing rain and redemption

In these same life-worn streets
      the cry of rag-and-bone
has long ago faded :
      and yet you ask
                  where is beauty
                  where is youth
                  where is Alice
with her long blond hair ?

He who said
      she shall have roses
ribbons and rings
      where is he ?

When was it
      that crabbed age crept in
to take the upper-hand ?
      When was it
that he first cursed confusion
       and his faltering limbs ?

Enough of your sad metaphysics
      my dust has yet to settle
and I will do battle until
      my day is done
There is no repose
      that I would welcome
nor will I accept
      a cooler shade of love :
the true constellations
      are here below
in her entreating eyes
      in her redemptive smile
in the warmth of her embrace
      and I will not be denied

John Lyons