Names

What’s in a name?
Is a soul, the body being
Merely the physical manifestation
Or the physical thoroughfare
Through which the soul operates.
Is it the body that bathes
In the sea or the spirit
That drinks in the sensations,
That reacts with thought and feeling
To whatever is seen and heard
And sensed? Why do we
Measure our age in births
And celebrate as though
Age alone was an accomplishment?
It is not. The rocks and stones
On the shore will always
Outdo us in terms of ageing,
And though there may be a
Geological aspect to our being
Who is to say that the soul itself
Ages? Names are words of love
Given with love in times of love.
And yet they have the quality of
Definition, and exhort us to become
Ever more who we are, in your case,
As honest and as clear and bright
As the morning sun, that rises
In all modesty, that sits like a jewel
In the hemisphere bringing warmth
And joy and affection to those
Who bask in its brilliance. So,
Not age in itself, but the process
Of constant refinement as we seek
To perfect the essence of who we are,
Growth without dimension, a gradual
Assumption of our inner truth as we
Discard all that is superfluous to
The wisdom learnt not from years
But from the endless gestures
Of give and take that we call life.

John Lyons

Proposition

Let’s make the most of today
           I know it’s raining and that
the grey sky will probably not lift
           but let’s do something grand
something that’s so small
           and yet so important it might
change the course of history
           I mean our history which has no need
for a military marching band
           nor for any verbose political postures
something more like the human touch
           away from the public spotlight
something intimate and tender but
           that will further the course of humanity
let’s tie the knot that only lovers know
           tighter than ever and elegantly
in defiance of the dull monotone of a day
           we should not allow to go to waste

John Lyons

Mystery

Time is growth and decay
           renewal and removal
recall and loss of memory
           my mottled hands
marked with the stain of age
           the brittle nails with which
I cling on to dear life
           the spider-lines on my face
and yet purpose still strong
           love muscular as ever

and I think of the roses
           hardened through winter
the curved thorns that could
           tear my hands apart
fresh stems shooting up
           in springtime
the unapologetic beauty
           of new blooms
the rise and fall of it all
           and how many lips
have gone quiet
           the silence of dust
the fragility of the kiss
           and from the moment
of the first murmur
           of my heart
in my mother’s womb
           the mystery

John Lyons

That’s life

This outward journey
              from which no return
mere water light and carbon
             energy that feeds on energy
moving between waves of energy
             our days and nights
governed by starlight
             purpose unknown
and yet in time and space
             we are expression
of the universe
             its silence too
more dialectic
             than contradiction
in this vast architecture of voids
             what sense there is
in the mystery of poetry
             all that defies understanding
our seasons in heaven and hell
             our loves and losses
amid galaxies that assume
             the shape of roses
all within a chaos
             of infinite precision

John Lyons

Question

Is it the sound or the silence
           that comes in waves
the tide of natural voices
           the leaves that rustle
in the forest
           the surge of the sea
that rolls in
           that pounds
on the fine sand
           that sucks at the shore
as it retreats
           that comes and goes
comes and goes
           endlessly ?

John Lyons

None

There is
             no good
in the world
             except
out of love :

no rose
             no nightingale
no salmon rising
             no cherry blossom
nor dripping honeycomb
             no star
no unwavering constellation
             can compare

John Lyons