The main event

A white October sky
         as the day disentangles
from the cool night
         If there were stars
I failed to see them
         or an eclipse of the moon
I missed that too
         The day ahead
will be full and pleasing
         and will end in deep
satisfaction when we meet
         We are hours away
from each other
         but the time will soon pass
because that’s what times does
         it passes leaving barely a trace
but for the love
         we manage to live

At the moment
         as I sip my morning coffee
I am staring into space
         the space through which
I will drift
         until we are together again 
under our very own patch of sky 
         beneath which we are  
for each other at least
         the main event

John Lyons

Welcome this poem

Welcome this poem
         into the world
on its first morning
         a mild October day
with a little drizzle
         people out on the street
milling round
         :  young families
a child calling out
         to her parents
the gentle chatter
         of friendship
the easy Saturday drift
         with no plans and
no agenda

I lie there listening
         as life goes by
think of the starry foam
         of outer space
and the intimate life
         of my innermost thoughts
how in so many respects
         I am a mystery to myself
greater perhaps
         than the greatest
questions the universe holds

The slow seamless cloud
         hangs over the city
but it does not oppress :
         the day has been so far
generous with its delights
         words have come and gone
and I have the absolute feeling
         of knowing what I know
and I’m aware too
         of the shifting parameters
of my ignorance
         There comes a point
when I really don’t care
         and feel that perhaps
understanding is overrated

Welcome this poem
         into the world
and please don’t give it
         a hard time
Let’s all act
         as though we were angels
as though we are angels
         in the hope that one day
we might truly be

John Lyons

Before too long

Where is the sun
         I ask
on a day like today
         when I needed it most
sensitive as I am
         to the passing years
to the many selves
         of myself
threaded one after another
         through the thin twine
of my history

A cool grey sky
         is not what I need
to lift my spirits
         to enable me
to put the past
         behind me
I have known roses
         and fallen petals
I have crossed deserts
         under a frenzy of stars
I have held my breath
         in my hand
as the frost nipped
         at my exposed flesh

Love :
         that too I have known
that too I have won
         that too I have lost
Love of the serpent
         that laid in wait for me
under a pile
         of autumn leaves :
the nails were thorns
         and they tore
into my heart

Where is the sun today
         I have a number
of separate selves
         that I need to reconcile
a little warmth
         would go a long way
a little love and a little
         less conversation

The hollowness
         of numbers
I’ve been counting
         the zeroes for years
a close shave
         under time’s blade

John Lyons

Words words words

However much we may resent
         and dislike it
life is all about measurement
         about span and length
and breadth
         / including breath /
the distance from A to B
         and from now until then
cradle to the grave
         a lifetime of chronometry
and kilometers
         the old faithfuls of time and space
in the midst of what passes
         for eternity
which is simply the abolition
         of these parameters

And yet the rose
         and yet the promise
The small doses
         of pleasure that life deals
and the words
         that hold it all together
just about
         perhaps nothing more
than a lasting illusion
         a walk in the park
under a Sunday autumn sun
         flowers still in bloom
family life at play
         on the lawns
lovers on the benches
         locked in a kiss

Poetry too
         is about time and space
and what you make of it
         and what you don’t
a silence filled with
         words words words

John Lyons

Daybreak

All in ciphers
         our stars and our destinies
the night havens
         in which we lie cocooned
before the day tolls
         once again

Grey frosty start
         but soon to be blue
the day will rise
         and we with it
wrapped in our hopes
         and in all our ambitions
eager to pursue
         the secular light
returning as evening falls
         to love’s sweet precinct
to sight and sound and soft
         welcoming flesh

Time is a translation
         a version of ourselves
never accurate
         because never complete
: time lives in the memory
         and in love it dies

John Lyons