Poetry repairs the decay of things
: the filaments of the flower
stand proud for all time
in the words of the poem
which creates a new self
standing apart from the poet
a ripeness of thought and feeling
detached and fearless and sleepless
and deathless that becomes fixed
in the heart of the reader
a clamorous song with a melody
that steeply ascends and leaps
in rough odes or seamless sonnets
that pierce into the ageless infinite
John Lyons
Nothing fades like flowers
nothing lives like love
so the luscious white lilies
have withered and dried
after a week in which they lived
their full-funnelled glory
The sag and droop of age
the tissues wrinkled
the leaves that have begun
to detach and litter
the base of the vase :
the purest of beauties
has had its day of universal
admiration and with a sigh
must now be discarded
its remains bundled
sadly out of sight
but love will survive
this minor tragedy
love will survive
there is no comparison
none at all
John Lyons
Friday night colour
of companionship and love
congregations at bars and restaurants
down by the riverside
buzz of their conversation
flowing out into the cool air
fervent relaxation
an end to the arduous week
City lights shimmer
on the river surface
the Tower at Tower Bridge
beautifully beheld
If not made for love
what is life’s purpose ?
To stroll hand in hand
to pause to kiss
to love your life away
To be a destination
arms into which you hurry
at the end of the day
A definition—names
destined to be coupled
lives led in common
a rhythm shared
fed with words that
flow back and forth
a deep well of emotion
a heartfelt longing
for the simplicity
for love never to end
to be the making of them
for all time
John Lyons
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
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
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
What a day
the sun breaks through
and suddenly it’s spring
and everyone has a lively step
I pop into the bookshop
and browse the complete poems
of Charles Olson a complete poet
a bear of a man whose father
delivered the mail all his life
and did so proudly
I flick through the poems
pausing here and there
when something catches my eye
I read of a dog a cat and the moon
and then I read that America
has no history and I think
Who needs history
what is this history fetish
why not be content to live
in the day
with all the slings and arrows
of outrageous good fortune ?
That a man’s creative life
can be reduced to so few pages
that disturbs me
and the fact that all leaves
are leaves of grass
and that all song
even that of the kingfisher
will one day fall silent
What kind of a profession
is poetry—poets should get a job
poets should not whine
about the state of the union
not think that they are
a law unto themselves
The body is a shell
a housing that can grow old
and decrepit even as the mind
flourishes beneath the rain
Sing of her who has a beautiful face
whose eyes are unsung beacons
sing of them and of her breasts
her high cheekbones her hands
that twist and turn to the rhythm
of her thoughts her kindly thoughts
Olson’s poems were pathways
were routes mapped out with words
Out of Gloucester out of the geographies
of his youth he drew up charts
by which to navigate the turbulent waters
his imagination gripped by a white whale
What does not change / he wrote
is the will to change
John Lyons
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
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
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
johnjosephlyons 