Last night

Last night

Last night the stars
           in the pitch black sky
brighter than ever before
           and the space deeper
the silence too
           wondering how love
can be sustained
           over such distances
: and through the silence
            endless radio waves
from the origins of time—
           all things that have beginnings
have ends too
           even a universe is not for ever

so where does that leave love
           and how can love survive
can a kiss stretch around the moon
           can a caress rescue the faltering word
can the unutterable abyss of absence
           ever be filled : what gestures 
will bind two hearts together
           in defiance of time and space ?

John Lyons

So what

So what

There are no shortcuts
           no feigning paradise
nothing comes from nothing
           neither are there
accidental roses
           or transient loves

against the frost
           there is the warmth
the light in her eyes
           affirmation in her kindness
life is deliberate
           even though we struggle
to attain perfection
           such as it exists in this world

life is a knowledge
           an accumulation
a construct
           and nobody is free
from error
           all are beholden
to forgiveness
           the gloss on our actions
soon wears thin
           but love endures
as the rose is paragon
           be steadfast
life is a visitation
           a discovering
a walk in the park
           keep your wits about you
and never forget her
           nor let her forget you

John Lyons

The rose

The rose

The purity
           the clarity
the beauty
           of the rose

the living rose
           grown from seed
proud in its bed
           or snipped and displayed
in a cut glass bowl

the rose that is a rose
           that is a rose
set in stone
           for all time
and for all minds

minds built from
           fragments of mind
snippets of experience
           and knowledge
woven into the mind

by any other name
           I would know a rose
secure in its certainty
           though I may not
always know
           my own mind

sweet unadorned rose
           that never betrays
that never abandons me
           rose unthorned
so dear to my heart

John Lyons

Morning musing

Morning musing

If she were simply a dream
           I would not remember her
when I wake and she is gone
           I would not long for a kiss
that she could never give

The earth fired
           with a crimson sunrise
this cold morning
           a dusting of frost
on the trees and grass
           that will soon
melt into the air
           as all thing do
no moment
           no thing fixed for all time

Life is sparrow-song
           heard
and soon forgotten
           until it returns
a world of perhaps
           maybe / who knows ?

John Lyons

Nightfall

Nightfall

As winter evening fell
           Venus bright in the sky
above Doughty street
           where Dickens once lived
the view he would have seen
           from the upper floor
sharp lines of the opposite roofs
           behind which
the tops of trees / amputees
           pruned back to stumps

So time has shaped
           and shapes us
energy into light
           into growth
into days
           time and time again
beside the flowing waters
           flecks and wafers of time
hair bleached by the sun
           our bodies etched
with history
           bones turned to stone

John Lyons

A piece of work

A piece of work

Sun that reaches
           down into the roots
light into flesh
           a girl’s arms
her hair her lips
           her body built
cell by cell
           from energies
accumulated
           in the leaves
of plants : from grains of life
           that feed this forest
of substantial souls
            Our honesty lies
in our adherence
           to the aboriginal scripts
that underpin the whole
           of our existence

that we should be conscious
           of our consciousness
knowingness of the self
           structures and codes
of language and behaviour
           the greatest discoveries
yet to come
           a poetry of time and place
of elegy and loss
           and memory
for we are who we remember
           ourselves to be
our inner beauty
           is of the moment
and love for one another
           our most precious movement

John Lyons