A new text

These are the woven moments
         the tapestry of our life
down by the river
         men with their rods
and small buckets of live bait
         sit and talk and while away
the morning
         waiting for the fish to bite
a clear blue sky and the tide
         racing in across the mudflats
Couples stroll hand in hand
         and it is as if nothing matters
the earth is a paradise
         if only we knew
how to put it to good use
         and pears unpicked
will drop in due course
         birds will fall silent
in the warm fields
         and at night the stars
will bring a remembrance

Life is supple and turbulent
         but its blood never fails
it rises and falls with the tides
         the ebb and flow of the hours
and dissipates with our dreams

She is her passion
         she is all of a hush
as she surrenders
         her soul in sacrifice
There is no grief
         no loneliness
no nostalgia
         for forgotten forests

She blooms
         she comes in gusts
the elation in her eyes
         a rose stripped of its thorns
in the throes
         of an inarticulate convulsion
sweet pangs of pleasure
         coursing through her veins

John Lyons