Bridge

Love that is sleepless
         that spans the space
between one body
         and another
harp and altar
         ambitions and lives
held in suspension
         a crossing of paths
a folding in of destinies
         time’s exploration
of human frailty
         and the gift of true
communication
         back and forth
to and fro
         the sun-cusped days
and the winter nights
         two sides to a single
location : desire
         is always on
a distant shore
         the sweat streaming
down their foreheads
         on they walked
stray angels
         loosed into
Lower Manhattan
         There is a time
and a place
         for everything :
their bodies cut shapes
         from the shadows
wind merges into wave
         night into day
poetry and love and creation
         as ever unfinished

John Lyons

Dancing in Copacabana

Dance of ethereal light
on the sheer waters

the shimmering sequins
of her dress

her high black heels
and energy stirring

within her limbs
Iambic Copacabana samba

Feet measured in breaths
poetry that walks the talk

Dance has no beginning
It has no end : is one in itself

We live in a universe of dance
from the sun in waves

Movement scaled over time
and a heart that dances

steps out into the darkness
across the face of the earth

The sea rhythms pounding
on the shore : pulse of eternity

Where is love ? Where are
hope and charity if not here?

Speak of beauty that is 
deeper than skin 

of the sensuous sway of her body
of the elegance and grace of her feet

of the undying dance that may
one day unfold upon the Elysian fields

John Lyons

Twilight

Blue fading
Frigate birds ride above the waves
Their wide wings barely stretched
Silver light on the crests
The promise of darkness
Of rest and sleep
Innocence restored
The day’s divisions in retreat
As night levels all
The huddle of community
Differences buried
Silhouette of the mountains
Geological time ever present
Ever a reminder
That life is unfinished

John Lyons

Earth

Everything is made of earth
the earth we walk upon

the rich mineral earth
that rises up within our bones

the sun-fed earth
provider of our daily bread

the animal vegetable living earth
source of the air we breathe

and of the water that runs
through our veins

and upon which every cell depends
Everything is made of earth

every whisper every word of love
every gesture every birth

and every death too
of the earth

to which we will all
– in good time – return

John Lyons

What is known

Say that it is she alone who matters
         she who moves through her day
with delicate passion and decision
         Say that she has known blue skies
and wide oceans and yet faced
         all the challenges
of a fragmented life and a love
          – perhaps more than one –
that turned to dust
         despite her truth
and despite her beauty

Say that in her inner strength
         she has much for which
to be thankful
         much to celebrate :
throughout phases of the moon
          the changes of the light
and the waywardness of seasons
         she has kept to her course
without flinching

She was born to be
         an enlightened rose
to enhance the freshness
         of green leaves and to stroll
to the sound of gulls
         across a sun-bleached Atlantic beach
with grace and dignity
         Say that she is laughter
and tenderness and that
         in her reflection
there is no shadow

Say that she is everywhere to him
         say that she is everything
and add that she has brought calm
         to a restless heart
that she has brought music
         and liberated unconscious permissions
Say that in his mind
         there are words for her
that he has yet to express
         words with which to reflect
the visible elements
         of her gentle soul

John Lyons

Cusp

First taste of winter
cool breeze from the north

days are shorter
nightfall falls sooner

catches us unawares :
at daybreak condensation

on the windows
Where did the summer go

where did the time
the mystery of new love

the hand held
the lips kissed

that innocent belief
that all would be well

well and truly well
with the world ?

John Lyons

The French poet, Blaise Cendrars (1887-1961), lost his right arm during the Battle of the Somme in 1915. An important member of the Montparnasse community of writers and artists, Cendrars was an inspirational influence on many American writers, including John Dos Passos and Henry Miller. His friendship with the painter, Marc Chagall, is reflected in the poem below.

Portrait – Marc Chagall

He sleeps
He wakes
Suddenly, he paints
He takes a church and paints with a church
He takes a cow and paints with a cow
With a sardine
With heads, hands, knives
He paints with a bullwhip
He paints with all the dirty passions of a small Jewish town
With all the heightened sexuality of provincial Russia
For France
Without sensuality
He paints with his thighs
His eyes in his arse
And suddenly it’s your portrait
It’s you reader
It’s me
It’s him
It’s his fiancée
It’s the local grocer
The milkmaid
The midwife
There are tubs of blood
The newborn are washed there
Insane skies
Mouths of modernity
The Tower as corkscrew
Some hands
Christ
He’s Christ
He spent his childhood on the Cross
He suicides every day
Suddenly, he no longer paints
He was awake
Now he sleeps
Chokes on his tie
Chagall’s astonished to be still alive

Blaise Cendrars

(translation by John Lyons)

We who in winter

We who in winter
         wrap ourselves
in warm wools
         expose ourselves
to the summer sun
         with wanton abandon

Life in the particles
         that vibrate
in the gestures
         that carry us forward
and in the love that burns
         through us
a wildfire of emotions
         a necessary desire
to conquer and to consume
         to contain
and to consummate

Love is not lip-service
         it creates its own cosmos
its own culture
         as it propels the limbs
into essential action
         Though it thrives
in time and space
         it lives beyond them
and fears neither
         the turbulent night shadows
nor the cold crystal cloud
         that falls in flakes
upon the unwary soul

Knowing
         doing and being
are the lover’s
         perennial watchwords
sea        earth     sky
         water    fire    and air
elements intended
         for coalescence
wholeness
         out of singularities
and its disclosure
         comes from words
from the intimate fabric
         that binds the beauty
of the molecular rose
         to the melancholy thorn

John Lyons