Words alone

Although I’m the writer
           I know that sometimes
the words says themselves
           and I have no control
they spill out of me
           with an energy
and a will of their own
           and I read them
subsequently to try
           to understand what
they’re getting at
           and sometimes I succeed
but mostly I fail
           it really is that hit and miss

Other times
           I’m a harvester
I plough through fields
           of words culling
here and there
           a word or phrase
that strikes my fancy
           and some of these words
have pedigree or form
           a rose a tiger a grain of salt
a labyrinth shaped
           by blocks of prose

I remember the blossom
           blowing across the lawns
of my youth
           the fruit that hung heavy
on the branch
           and clear summer nights
seeded with stars
           that never slept

John Lyons

Love’s destinations

Let’s not talk
of method

or madness
let’s just be

you and I
boy and girl

who moved
along love’s

destinations
London to Paris

Berlin to Budapest
Venice to Vienna

let’s not talk
of beginnings

or of ends
but of ever

and a day
and of the special

breath that never
left us

that held us
together

body and soul
for all time

John Lyons