Hand

The hand within
         the hand
once held
         now gone
long gone

Light of the day
         folded into
the night sky

Such are
         the deeds of love
done and undone
         the eyes an ageless hue
the kiss distant
         a promise unkept
the clutch of cool arms
         the siren song
and then silence
         and then nothing

John Lyons

Past caring

My past is catching up with me
         in ways I never imagined
the texts and the images
         and all the incidental props
of my youth are now museum pieces
         I find my adolescent years
themed into exhibitions
         and I walk through the galleries
inspecting fragments of years
         that have long been dead
and it’s an eerie feeling
         as though the world is saying
hurry up and produce more life
         that we can capture and catalogue
and place behind glass
         because your past days
are more important to us
         than your days to come

This week I’ve seen Egyptian relics
         rescued from cities
submerged by the sea
         and I’ve strolled through a collection
of memorabilia charting the social
         and political upheavals of the sixties
and to be perfectly frank
         I’ve grown more than a little tired
of these manicured processions
         through the past

Let the dust submerge the dust
         I want the warm sensations
of everyday life with its colour
         with its flowers and its beating hearts
not yet turned to stone
         and the eternal hope
that love will grow and that one kiss
         will lead to another

John Lyons

The professional

He has worked out the back all summer
         and it’s now late October
and he’s still here
         Over the months he has demolished
a forty metre garden wall and rebuilt it entirely
         from the foundations up
Two days ago
         when the rendered surface was dry
he painted the wall and replaced
         the water feature
a cement fountain with a large bird-bath
         on a pedestal flanked by two cement rabbits
Week after week I’ve seen new tools arrive
         a small cement mixer
an electric tile cutter
         new shovels and spades
and hammers and saws
         and at one point a pneumatic drill
He’s in his mid-seventies
         and walks and works with a slight stoop
yet I have seen him carrying breeze blocks
         and large bricks and heavy buckets
of sand and earth as though it were all a trifle
         for a man of his age
He has grown into the job
         and often I have caught him
sitting on a bench staring at his handiwork
         with a deep sense of pride

Today
         having returfed part of the lawn
he’s sanding the rest of the grass
         adding the final touches
to his commission
         He’s on the home straight
and for the first time in all this time
         he’s wearing a high visibility jacket
and a white baseball cap
         as if to to say :
Hey look at me
         and see what I have achieved
at my age
         I came through
I never faltered
         I’m a real professional

John Lyons