In the beginning...

When I first penned the words, What I wanted to say,
Though line by line still forever they'll lay,
I knew then so little, it now seems so fickle!
But the words are still there,
'cause pen to paper I did dare!
I wrote what was then, Not to an egg, but a hen!
A sloppy love poem, I call now,
though we've always been parted.
but this is how my life of writing just started.
And so to continue, my friends, without further amends:
The rest of the story, Oh! I'm sorry - it's not gory....
A LITTLE HELP FROM A FRIEND

Twas the spirit of the horse which first caught my sight,
The awareness of self and the willingness for flight.
So intrigued was my heart, so deeper I looked...
I saw the soul of the horse, and then I was hooked.
The contentedness of being, how in nature it fits.
Whether drawn-to or fleeing, how close still it knits.
Further and deeper, my heart; oh so much did it yearn,
How it warmed so my soul , twas then began I to learn.
How to listen and feel for the voice of the horse,
And I gained then this guidance, as a matter of course:
The meaning of life is too much to know.
Just be a part of the whole, and let yourself grow.
If a door is closed, if a wall is there;
If your heart says no; then look elsewhere.
Seek awareness of self, look to nature when lost.
Never measure your wealth, be not concerned with the cost.
Wisdom is light, and the map has a key.
The truth will appear when you are ready to see.
Dont look down when you fall. From the truth; do not hide.
What is seen is never all, but your soul is your guide.
THE HORSE

The horse is said to be a gift from God,
but some say he's only for chewing the sod.
Others, they think the horse is a means
-to gain status, recognition, and selfish dreams.
Some people treat the horse as a machine;
Some say; "He hates me, i hate him, he's so mean".
The horse has no say in this situation,
and all that is gained is stress and frustration.

But all is not lost in this blind world;
The truth of the horse is being unfurled.
Some people can hear the voice of the horse,
they seem to do miracles without any force.
The truth is just this, that man needs to stand
-and learn about nature and the lore of the land.
It has been much to long since man was in tune;
with nature, the Earth, the stars, and the moon.

To open our eyes and look all around,
to feel what is there, to hear every sound.
To obey our senses and open our minds
-to the cry of the wild from all of its kinds.
This task would prove to be all too much;
for most of mankind has now lost the touch.
So out to our aid, without demand, only cause
-comes from nature itself; the gift of the horse.
WORDS

Every poem, I write on that day;
because it happens, I see it that way.
If I tried dost to scribe it again;
It would never be ever likely the same.
Words are a part of the language we speak,
"Birds" -those who can't, such anguish; so meek!
How can they say, but yet fly away?
Speak they well may; They're still part of the day.
IF - THEN

If nobody cared - If nobody shared;
If nobody fought - If nothing was bought;
If nothing was built - If there was no guilt;
If all those that should, always proved that they could;

If nobody gained - If no-one was shamed;
If nobody feared - If nobody sneered;
If nobody gloped - If nobody hoped;
If nobody needed - If nobody pleaded;

If nobody hated - if nobody slated;
If all this was so; There'd be no-where to go.
If all this was true; Then nowt would be new.
Then, surely, my freind; Then, purely, The End.
AFTER

It is not for us, it seems to me;
to be alone: It can never be.
A freind I sought to interlace,
to fill the gap; That lonely place.
I thank you now for being true.
Know: I vow, I'll never forget you.
The body dies, the soul is free,
The spirit flies, and thee are we.
DEAR MAM

I've always known when I am alone,
That you'll always be there on the other end of the phone.
You are always there to give good advice,
Honest,and forth-coming, even when the truth isn't nice.

But I'm sorry to say that: I don't always hear;
What you're trying to say; then I argue through fear;
Of myself, my all, and what I've become:
Selfish, Arogant, Stupid; ..and worse; even Dumb.

But I suppose that is just: my way of handling things.
. Like my way of thinking, and the trouble it brings.
So, I thought it was time; to say "Thankyou" anyway,
Just the fact that you're there,
helps me live through the day.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAM


Dear Grandma...


For some reason this page dissapeared. This is
a place-holder until I find the poem again and
repost it.

Please click on 'Next Poem' to continue through
the rest as normal.

Much Appologies


Who am I?

Young people want to be older.
Old people want to be younger.
When I was young, I wished to be older,
because I wanted my youth to end.
Now I am older, I wish i was younger,
to give me more time to mend -
the times of my middle past,
the times when I felt so outcast.
When life seemed so unfair,
maybe I was just becoming aware?
Why was I so blind? seeing only unkind?
But that was the time which mattered most greatly.
Because then was the time I lost myself completely.

So, I continue to search for fulfillment, for cause.
Have I thrown what I had? Am I glad?
Have I cleared away bad? Am I sad?
Do I know what is left?
Or all I show is a cleft?
Do I see myself as shelf, screw, wall or air?
Do I flee from no wealth, Am I drew? Call my flair?
No! I continue to be as was is as am.
My pleasure now is as just a wee dram.


Marriage

What is it for? What does it mean?
Is it a bore? Are you really that keen?
The dictionary says "marry" means to ajoin.
Accept what you have, ignore what's annoying.
The reason to wed, in full, is much more.
The season you're led,'cause you're joined at the core.
You've both found your mate, betroth sound your fate.
Be happy for ever, my blessing I give;
Let not your love sever, may it always live.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Born Ian Michael Lyons on 5th March 1970 to
Mary (nee Shiels) and Michael Lyons, the author's
birth parents are both of part-Irish decent. His
Grandmother is an Irish Romany and his Grandfather was
a farmer in Donegal. He has a brother Paul. Due to
the trials of life, Ian is now adopted to Jill and
John Drinkwater and living in Leicester. He now has
Two sisters; Jacqueline-Helen and Julia-Ann.

Ian has always been extremely emotional. His first
recorded poem was written for Beth Mackley and was the
beginnings of him discovering written expression of
inner feelings. Music is his first love though,
as it helped him greatly through a troubled childhood,
giving him a constructive release for his mixed emotions.
Ian has worked in many professions in his search
for his niche in society, gaining insight and forming
philosophies along the way. Much of this continues to
be reflected in his work.

Other influences come from ideas and visions whilst
reading various books in his spare time. His personal
favourites-of-all-time are: J.R.R. Tolkien's 'The Hobbit'
and Emily Bronte's 'Wuthering Heights'.

As well as continuing to write poetry, Ian is currently
writing a book entitled:
'The What, Where, When and Why guide to Handling Horses'
which he explains is a book about 'horse listening'.

Here's what the Author looks like:

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