All ills overcome

All ills overcome

All ills overcome
           by love
the give more powerful
           than the take
the love that moves
           to soften hearts
daylight put
           to good purpose
to the mending
           of emotions

where there is beauty
           there is love
in the kind word
           and the gesture
in the forgiving
           of offence
in the making
           of amends

the nobility of love

           shines through
its gentleness
           its understanding
of human frailty
           including its own
All ills overcome
           by love

John Lyons

 

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A feather to the wind

A feather to the wind

All things appear
       as mention of themselves
the stones worn by time
       the sea’s empty roar
cormorants scudding
       across the grey river surface
down by Tower Bridge
       the whispered rush of breath
that veers off into emptiness
       lovers who walk hand in hand
who keep the day alive
       with their secret knowledge
as others lose themselves
       in listless dispersions
lovers who are disposed
       to run time’s gauntlet
to absolve the petalled thorns
       of the salmon rose

John Lyons

 At random

 At random

What are these
       but words
in the wind
       spoken in time
all too soon
       forgotten

Perceptions
       the furrows I have ploughed
self-knowledge drawn
       from hushed sources
from clusters of excellence
       and now a winter’s tale
she who was
       compassed perfection
who spoke to
       my necessary nature
my needled north : time does
        not move the heart
beauty hewn
       from the finest chisel
love the sole measure
       of all use

John Lyons

 

A gentle lyric

A gentle lyric

Come the night surge
I’m there beside
your unfathomable flesh
never tiring
of the endless sesames
upon which our trust
is built

so the battered soul
survives the blades
of ill-fortune
as inmost sobs
are expunged

Dawn brings
fresh inklings
of innocence
just as weeping
marigolds
rise again

John Lyons

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2 peaches

Two_peaches
Two peaches, by John Lyons

2 peaches

Two ill-painted peaches
            and long gone but one hopes
that they were sweet
           that they were enjoyed
as a fruit of the moment
           not meant for eternity
a tasty time capsule
           subject to oxidation
and to inevitable
           decline

the succulent flesh
           concealed beneath
a soft furry skin
           and the hard stone
awaiting within for
           burial under the earth
and a bold opportunity
           to rise again

John Lyons

Holding station

Holding station

On a cold crisp morning
           world in sharp relief
silhouette of firs
           against the skyline
a sky plied by jets
           playfully releasing
thin white trails
           of condensation as they go

And play’s the thing
           the absence of aggression
allowing life to flow
           through the veins
giving rein
           to the innocence
that is there
           in our nature

Light brings life
           brings colour
here in this holding station
           where hopes and dreams
are given time
           in which to breathe

John Lyons