2 peaches

Two_peaches
Two peaches, by John Lyons

2 peaches

Two ill-painted peaches
           long gone but one hopes
that they were sweet
           that they were enjoyed
as a fruit of the moment
           not meant for eternity
a tasty time capsule
           subject to oxidation
and to inevitable
           decline

the succulent flesh
           concealed beneath
a soft furry skin
           and the hard stone
awaiting within for
           burial under the earth
and a bold opportunity
           to rise again

John Lyons

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Holding station

Holding station

On a cold crisp morning
           world in sharp relief
silhouette of firs
           against the skyline
a sky plied by jets
           playfully releasing
thin white trails
           of condensation as they go

And play’s the thing
           the absence of aggression
allowing life to flow
           through the veins
giving rein
           to the innocence
that is there
           in our nature

Light brings life
           brings colour
here in this holding station
           where hopes and dreams
are given time
           in which to breathe

John Lyons

 

Autumn meditation

Autumn meditation

That mid-October
           autumn glow
a stillness
           in which the clarity
of birdsong is appreciated
           the larders are full
and nature prepared
           to buckle down
for the winter
           no one or no thing
wants to be caught
           out of position
when the storms set in
           what eggs were needed
have been laid
           and soon nests will be abandoned

but the baton has been passed
           to another generation
These days
           there is little talk of peace
little appetite for compromise
           for brotherhood
or protection of the weak
           and the poor
the fit will survive
           but too much of the discourse
is mean-mouthed
           every man jack
I see how the light falls
           how it illuminates one side
casts a shadow over the other
           how the hand moves the mind
how the mind moves the hand
           to words

John Lyons

Philosophical

Philosophical

Swirl of dry leaves
in the sharp breeze
—these though once
fresh and green
will soon be dust

I think of all the years
that have fallen
by the wayside
years of my youth

the years of famine
the years of plenty
that have led me
to where I am today

Time is a piece of string
who knows how long :
all I have is what I have
in my hands and who
I have in my heart
I need no more

John Lyons

Wild flowers

Wild flowers

Air circles the wild flowers
it stirs the grasses in the meadow
and light falls upon all things
and in one way or another
feeds all things and the flowers
draw nutrients out of the soil
and their rustic beauty has
much to do with their freedom

and the fact that they are wild
and uncultivated and serve
no purpose other than to enrich
our lives with their allure

John Lyons