What is relentless
is the pushing forward of time
See how the colours of summer
have faded and how already
there are anticipations
of autumn as the days draw in
the jackdaw at my window
has laid its eggs
its nestlings have fledged
six hungry mouths to be fed
so that they are big and strong
before winter sets in
John Lyons
Where shall we dig in
here by the river
by the Tower
by the Bridge
the land and the tidal river
two worlds
taste the salt in the air
sight smell touch taste
sounds of the river
weaving in and out
of our lives
soul of the city
the gift of silence
of speech
that place where minds meet
where love is voiced
and unvoiced
the verse that gives shape
to it all
sense where sense
makes sense
where night falls
effortlessly
where day rises
in your eyes
John Lyons
The flowers I brought you
green tight-lipped lilies
will slowly open over the coming days
Then their unblemished beauty
will be revealed in all its glory
and for a while the flowers
will hold pride of place
and be the centre of attention
when you enter the room
until one day before you know
their heads begin to droop
and the leaves curl
and one by one
the petals start to fall
John Lyons
There are those who deny it Mary
that our roots go back
to the stars
the earth’s roots too
and that we grow out of it
and that to return to it
is no shame
neither is it a defeat
but part of a process
Yesterday they were telling stories
of when you were a young girl
of your innocence and also
of your love of life
and the strength of your sweet
innocent personality
the ease with which
you related to everyone
they were telling stories
and we all laughed
and remembered you
with such affection
and I thought that though
you have gone down
into the earth
you are still part of us
and that only a part of you
has gone and even then
gone is not the right word
since you are still here
in our hearts and in our minds
and have nowhere else to go
John Lyons
At dawn
a single bird
a single song
not a repetitive refrain
but a complex narrative
impenetrable to me
though clear I assume
to its audience
perhaps a cipher
or a shorthand
an expression
of the beauty life
and the mysteries
that it contains
the diversity of this
variously voiced
universe constantly
seeking attention
John Lyons
All that endures
all that does not
frail blossom
of the blackberry
turned away from
turned towards
errors of action
and inaction
if there is a song
in you then sing
if there is silence
then keep your peace
we are whom we
discover ourselves
to be
but it takes time
in this day’s sun
there’s always room
for more love
before night falls
John Lyons
The pleasure of a plum
ripe for the plucking
ripe for the eating
and the moment
of biting into the soft
sweet flesh
in August
and a crop of plenty
jam today
and jam tomorrow
but the moist
fruit on the palate
in that moment
the precise reality
of it
as though I was
born to it
and the memory
of the sloping garden
the tree laden
and the shade beneath it
the child I was then
before I knew
what a woman
really was
but knew my tables
and could do my sums
and had no idea
but for the present
wiping away
the dripping juice with
the back of my hand
John Lyons
What made you think
your world would
never change
and when it changed
what made you wish
it had forever
remained the same
at sunrise the spherical
drops of dew
that cling to the grass
refract the light
creating the illusion
of a field of diamonds
such a rich sight
for any eye
this street is
a never-ending text
written and rewritten
in the mind
here the dust
of our forefathers
dropped out of sight
no fire is ever
truly extinguished
it burns on
in the mind
cinders and ash
and the stuff
of human dreams
John Lyons
I noticed that the blackberries
on the canes in the garden
are almost ripe for picking
Blackberry and apple pie
was one of my favourites
when I was a boy
In those days I knew
nothing of poetry
but I was an expert
when it came to judging
blackberry and apple pies
I understand that I am
the world in which I walk
can debate whether
it is nobler or not but would
honestly kill for a decent
blackberry and apple pie
John Lyons
It’s as though the wind
has a mind of its own
blowing in one direction
then another
sometimes gusting
as it is today
rustling the leaves
of the bushes and trees
at other times
scarcely felt at all
Some nights it howls
or whistles under the eaves
as though it really
has to make itself heard
I know it’s just weather
but it is a presence after all
There have been days
when it has blown
so sternly in my face
that I have had to lean
into it and hope that
it would soon pass
Yet on other occasions
it has egged me on
swept me forward
almost off my feet
into the arms
of the girl I love
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 