Lower-case

breathe        grow        dream        love
           die not : is poetry not
the sacred flag of truth unfurled
           above anecdote though deeply
steeped in the narrative of the soul ?
           There is no school to celebrate
the niggardly politics of austerity
           beauty is not hard
nor cold nor calculating
           nor can it ever be consumed
it is a flourish of the flesh
           an all-embracing gesture
caution hurled to the wind
           it is faith and hope invested
in the redemptive energies
           of the dance of words
unleashed in the act of love
           beauty never scars
nor is deterred — beauty
           is wholesome wholeness
immune to amputation
           unique in its singularity

Take the swallow on the wing
           the ethereal grace and elegance
of its aerodynamics
           commensurate with the beauty
of its form shaped
           to and for perfection
the arabesques it traces
           in the sultry summer sky
confirm its guileless
           status among the angels
air        pride        plume
           not condemned
to the pitiful dens of darkness
           in which mere mortals wallow
Sinless swallows were
           before the fall 
series upon series of paragons
           overflying the bejewelled
pastures of paradise
           and so we look on
exhilarated and yet exiled
           banished from our own
geometric joys

Poets are not prize-fighters
           yet their noses are broken
their gums bleeding
           their tympanums burst
by the shrill cries
           of manic media merchants
a world weary of bone and brain
           a leprous Lazarus
hauled along on the slopes
           of sugared success

To the hand of fire
           we pray – spare us
from the venom
           of the corrupt kiss
from the pinnacles
           of ignominy

John Lyons