To speak of blood
what is in it
what feeds it
what raises it
its metaphysical weight
the price of it
the thirst for it
the lack of it
bloodied beauty
of the red rose
of a red sun sinking
below the horizon
whether the making
of good or bad blood
the tangled bloodlines
that bind us together
that set us apart
the war and peace
John Lyons
Turtles on the Pacific coast
that emerge from the sea
that scurry across the wide flat beach
that burrow into the soft sand
and there lay their eggs
in the white moonlight
This is a fertile universe
that so longs for life
that nothing is allowed to die
not energy
not love
nothing
John Lyons
A body of thoughts and feelings
fed by the blood of sunlight
a body that moves erratically
along a predetermined path
a body that knows when to stop
to admire a rose or to stroke a dog
a body given up to the intensities
of work and the leisure of love
one that lives in defiance
of the seasons and dreams only
of moonlight and a warm bed
in which to lie A body
stripped of all ambition
other than to breathe
the wholesome country air
and count the beats of its heart
John Lyons
Allow me to paraphrase
what Olson writes—
love is so lively
it cannot easily be contained
it jumps for joy
it attracts attention to itself
it is consumed with its own
importance and wants
to make its presence known
everywhere and at all times
it has a constant constancy
because this is a single-subject
universe with sole purpose
the expression of energy
So at night
I walk under the stars
and they follow me
a greater wealth
than any diamonds
and by day they are there
in the lily ponds
and beneath the large
green pads where carp swim
their bright scales
reflecting the light
and in the waters
I see the ripple
of my reflection
and beauty is vertical
and horizontal
and its volume equal
to the love it inspires
There are no unnecessary dreams
no redundant species
no flower that does not
warm the heart
Time is the possibility
to know all this
and to taste love
Neither the fish
nor the flowers
are idle :
and notice
that in our habitat
the sheets upon which we lie
till daybreak
are crisp and clean
and our poetry a space
in which to meet
and make love
John Lyons
Nothing matters
more than love
and we are all aware
of how exponentially
it grows in the practice
in the exercise
of our feelings
in gestures
of reaching
and touching
and simply being
together in silence
It wakes with us
and we put it to bed
at night : and those
delicious moments
when time plays
truant are love’s
gift to love
Cherish it
it is your truth
it is the essence
of your beauty
let its flame
burn forever
and a day
John Lyons
Every unsuspecting fibre
wracked with the pain
of silence and neglect
a litter of leaves
on the path to the Tower
tossing and turning
in the grime and dust
Life is long
: so too
the days and hours
of absence filled with
hope’s sullen reprobates
and at night the grinding
of foxes’ teeth
and the darkness that settles
around the heart
John Lyons
In the fierce wind overnight
leaves stripped from the lilac tree
a moonless sky that casts
deep shadows across my heart
one season here another there
what does it amount to
as we travel the life circuit
and drift from dream to dream?
John Lyons
