Perhaps

Perhaps it will be spring today
perhaps the sky will be blue

and the breeze gentle if at all
Perhaps I’ll see the first butterfly

of the year flitting from flower
to flower or the first bee clinging

to the petals of a bright red rose
Perhaps the sun will raise

a sweat on my forehead
or on my far too pale forearms

now bared to the elements
Perhaps I’ll hear the rowdy

laughter of wild children playing
or the sound of mowers

mowing neighbourly lawns
and maybe in the early afternoon

the familiar tang of badly charred
meat will drift through the balm

and whet my appetite for a life
that just isn’t the same without her

John Lyons

Silence

Listen in silence
to the beating
of your heart
to the purr
of your breath
to your hands
as they brush
together
or your thighs

Listen in silence
to the creaking
of the wooden seat
upon which you sit
and in the silence
recall
the last kiss
you gave
the last loving word
you spoke
your last gesture
of generosity

John Lyons

Recollections

Bring me
        the wild flowers that bloomed in my childhood
                the daisy and the dandelion :
        bring me the thrush and sparrow that sang
                the songs of my infancy

Bring me
        the fallow fields in which sombre
                cattle grazed and where between
        cow pats rank with steam we gathered
                mushrooms and so breakfasted away

our Sundays
        along with eggs and bacon and the juice
                of summer ripe tomatoes      Bring me those
        careless dreams which drifted in on subtle rays
                of sunshine— the smell of woodbine and

crushed grass
        Bring me those days which turned so soon
                to night, those nights which turned
        so soon to years— those years that are
                the very dust of all our memories

John Lyons

Eternal beauty

Who will find a way through this silence
         to the word to the warm breath
at the centre of this labyrinth of tears
         and tribulations ?

Who will count the sparrows with
         moving lips or number the budding
flowers on the English rose
         as they open to embrace the light ?

There is no destiny other
         than that shaped in the words
we act out
         in the narratives we carve
from life

Love is an address of the heart
         a shifting domicile of tenderness
in which our most precious words
         are guarded
a tabernacle of the soul
         venerated in our daily gestures

There is one altar
         the body upon which
our blood is partnered
         skin and bone bound by muscles
that coalesce rhythmically

likewise the passing seasons
         that bind us to time
and in which we must learn
         to extemporize / to improvise
humbled by the sparrow
         by the marigolds that adorn
the fields

Beauty is breath returned
         a kiss peppered with passion
a shiver down the spine
         a spasm of eternity made flesh

John Lyons

Sweet combustions

The ebb and flow of the days
              within the blind crucible
of endless space where so much
              pointless process prevails

the fume of fame
              of empty ambition
of energies expended
              on the trivia
of a star-glittered existence

Her lips beckon me
              she takes me into her arms
I see myself mirrored in her eyes
              flesh caresses flesh
soft-whispered words
              are exchanged
and the planets are realigned
              Wonderment as we explore
the labyrinths of our being
              the truths of our breath
the honesty of the passions
              folded within our breasts
a belfry of blood
              raised in celebration

time breaks over us
              beats at the lucid silence
in which we lie shrouded
              and all the earth shudders
rocks and stone and trees
              are in this moment
meaningless— so too
              the mighty river that sweeps
under the bridge
              unacknowledged
a prisoner to its own destiny

such is the power
              of love’s amaze
that soars above
              the old persuasions
my hand in hers
              as we scale the skies

John Lyons

An answer to some questions

What dream came with you
         what dream lies before you
what words have paved
         your path through the years
what promises made
         what promises unbroken
what flowers bestowed
         and which ones withheld
what questions answered
         and which ones remain
Will love live at last
         forever and a day

Lives written
         not in the stars
but in the intimacy
         of the moment
Her hair her lips her eyes
         the air displaced by her beauty
her bold stride through the day
         the decision within her words
her gestures that dispense
         hope and consolation and love
life-affirmative
         to the very core

What of the rose ?
         The rose withers and dies
its beauty is brief
         and it leaves no trace
Others hold the key
         to lasting beauty
others the key to truth

She lives in the moment
         that transcends the moment
little is left to be desired
         other than to be
her companion

John Lyons