Friday night

Friday night is the colour
         of companionship and love
office workers congregate
         at bars and restaurants
down by the riverside
         the buzz of their conversation
flows out into the cool air
         the tone is of fervent relaxation
and an end to the week’s work

The city lights shimmer
         on the river surface
the Tower and Tower Bridge
         a beautifully lit sight to behold
If Fridays were not made for love
         what is their purpose but
for lovers to stroll hand in hand
         to pause and kiss at certain points
along the way

But where are they heading
         if they are already there ?
Together is their destination
         and in time it will become
their definition—names
         and destinies coupled
their lives will enter
         into a common rhythm
and even their differences
         their most earnest
idiosyncrasies
         will be shared

And so the words flow
         along with the emotions
and in their hearts
         a longing for the simplicities
never to end
         for their love to be
the making of them
         for all time

John Lyons

Much ado about this and that

I have seen them perch
         on the very top of the tree
before launching themselves
         into a long slow flight of descent
wings spread wide but barely moving
         just enough to sustain their weight
and then turn in an arc and effortlessly
         find their way back to the treetop
where they pause before leaping
         once again into the accommodating air

The repetition of exhilaration
         all the fun of the fair
the helter-skelter of emotions
         the shudder of ecstasy
that wells up from the very core
         that erases all thought
that releases all anxiety
         the intensity of the moment
lost in the moment
         the senses all on the alert
to touch to taste to soft sounds
         to the light in her eyes
as the pleasures discharge
         and the muscles writhe
and her flesh can barely
         be contained within the confines
of my greedy embrace

John Lyons

Grace

The grace that comes
         from knowing
that you love
         and that you are loved
the musical phrase that recurs
         through your day
first and last voice
         a sing-song of celebration
first and last kiss of the day

This year will be our inauguration
         see how the buds on the trees
are poised to burst into life
         leaves that in due course
will fall and scatter in the wind
         the way of all blossom
but not of love : love outlasts
         love outlives—love craves time

And so it is an unearthing
         a bringing forth into the light
it is talk and accent and intonation
         it is the energy that moves you
and that in so doing moves me too
         Our names have become a phrase
just as our hands are joined
         or as we lie breast to breast
eye to eye or as we stroll
         down by the river
locked in conversation

So much is lost
         in the city bustle
a cormorant passes
         beneath Waterloo Bridge
leisurely flapping its wings
         in its unhurried purpose :
time will sweep away
         the horrors of dust
Give love its due
         honour it with all your heart
be guided by the stars
         and cultivate no regret

John Lyons

No surrender

We cannot live in the heart of fright
we are not autumnal creatures

the elements of silence and darkness
of coolness and rejection or of empty promise

should not detain us in the path to light
Hope and faith and love are our guide

The flowers that open under the spring sun
the fruit that hangs heavy on the branch

these are our necessary incentives
Time time time should be abandoned

to its own arbitrary devices—
ours is not the agenda of nameless hours

no darkness nor meaningless despair
can curtail our passions

those fleshed fuses that drive us forward
that transmute the monotone into song

Love foresees beginnings never the end
Love lays out the roses for the bed

in which it lies beneath the moonlight :
love laughs gently in the face of loveless fools

I say again that time is pointless patient words
leaves in the forest that slowly descend

Love is a drawn sword that swashbuckles
laying down its arms only to lie in her arms

John Lyons

The boilerhouse

It’s not just that astrophysics
         has a bearing on our lives
we are astrophysical beings
         through and through
we are the flowers of the universe
         we are life that mutates
into more and more life
         into ever more complex life
into generation after subtle
         generation of life

and love is the building block
         the simplicity beneath the surface
and the sunlight in your eyes
         is neither cliché
nor sentimental schmaltz
         it is literally the light
that comes from the sun

the beautiful bouquet of irises
         that stands on the table
in your home down by the river
         is caught in the iris of your eye
because beauty is self-referential
         self-reverential : the white petals
slowly open to fulfil
         the promise of intimacy
their delicate beauty
         inviting the iris in
deeper and deeper
         the gentle curve
of the soft floral flesh
         that leads you on 
and in to the very heart

John Lyons

Time and the river

Here are the daffodils
         to tell us that the worst
of the winter weather is over
         the river banks are thronged
with families with children
         with couples strolling
hand in hand

Here are the flowers
         to remind us of what life is all about
about joy and love and leisure
         about release from the demands
of work and school
         about taking control of our time

Here there are street entertainers
         singers with their songs
to raise our spirits in case
         they needed lifting
guitars and accordions
         and showmen and women
encouraging the young
         to jump into the unknown
to trust in the bounce below

Here the river flows
         gently through our lives
carrying the shimmering sunlight
         out to sea and along with it
the years of memories
         of fathers before us
of mothers long gone
         time and the river
time and again

John Lyons

Intimacy

Some things are private
         they have no business
in my poems :
         words and phrases
I may use in certain situations
         with a certain person
sometimes in the darkness
         sometimes not
but meant for her ears only

I can talk about her hair
         and her lips and her kisses
and the softness of her skin
         against mine
I can tell of the sparkle
         in her brown eyes
the smile that draws me in
         closer and closer to her heart
I can tell many many things
         I could go on and on and on
about her beauty and the way
         she transforms my day
and my night
         and I am happy
to be open with you
         to share what I am feeling
but some things are private
         some words and phrases
so private and sacrosanct
         and delicious that they are
as I say
         for her ears only

John Lyons

If I say. . .

If I say that it is your eyes
         if I say that it is your lips
if I say that it is your smile
         or your kiss or your words

if I say that it is your hair
         or your cheeks flushed with love
or your breasts or your hands
         or your thighs or your legs

if I say that it is your feet
         that carry you to me
or your arms that hold me
         or your sweet breath
on my face or the warmth
         of your body against mine

Whatever I say I cannot begin
         to describe the truth of your beauty
the sheer power of your presence
         the softness and the tenderness
the energies gathered within you
         the gift that your being represents
not just to those around you
         in your day-to-day or in your work
but to me—so especially to me
         with whom you have chosen to be

John Lyons