Planet talk

Yesterday I watched
           as a pigeon perched
on a branch of a bush and pecked
           at the orange berries
the bird’s weight and motion
           causing the branch
to rock back and forth
           till finally sated
it flew off and I returned
           to the text I was reading

the poem as a chapel of breath
           a place of ceremony and celebration
of time’s limited perfections
           that may or may not
bring new knowledge
           but strives nevertheless
of make sense of the world
           and of our feelings
while recognizing that love
           is the necessary greatness
to which we aspire
           under this bulging blue sky

John Lyons

Observations

The shapes of silence
an empty doorway

an open window
at which no one is seen

the shadow of an oak tree
that does not stir

the trail of space
that a cat leaves

behind it as it ambles
across a garden

or wanders along
an abandoned path

alongside the railway
or a blackbird

or perhaps a crow
pecking at recently

ploughed soil
or as the day

dissolves into night
a pine forest engulfed

in darkness
the air tinder dry

and a sense
of expectation

of a tale
about to be told

John Lyons

Optical illusion

The greatest of all illusions
           is the sky in all its manifestations
it simply doesn’t exist :
           that space where it rains or snows
or blows up a storm or brings us
           a wide blue summer’s day
does not exist though so often
           our hopes are pinned upon it

there is light and there is dark
           and there is the air and beneath it
the earth of the imagination
           the very substance of our lives
that we tread daily
           while raising our godforsaken eyes
up to the heavens for some sign
           even though every orientation
we could ever need is always here
           within the flesh of our hearts

John Lyons