How clear
on this bright morning
the fine fibres
spun by industrious spiders
the silky threads of light
strung from beam to beam
from wall to wall
weightless lines of beauty
that colonise the thin air
and are there
to entangle if not to entice
the most innocent of prey
the aphid and the mosquito
the bluebottle fly
all grisly grist
to that particular mill
John Lyons
Our stories are in our genes
our genes in our stories
Olson called them
the genes of the soul
the dreams of light and dark
the voyages of fantasy
of exploration and discovery
the confrontation with our fears
the defeat of all those
who would oppress us
with their mythical truths
Theseus had a thread
and Ariadne’s love
and the Minotaur died
and by the skin of his teeth
Ulysses made it home
John Lyons
Renaissance clouds
Against the blue sky
Love in the air
It’s all about perception
The eyes walk further
Than the feet
Not a cloud in the sky
Birds trawling for flies
Summer days that will
Never return
Make the most
No fool like an old fool
It takes a lifetime!
A wise man
Lives in ignorance
Of his own wisdom
Poetry is taking a break
Poetry is having a rest
The rest is silence
On such a beautiful day
blue cloudless sky
a benevolent sun
everywhere you look
people with smiles
on their faces
and a spring in their step
as though the entire
population has been
removed overnight
and replaced by
a whole horde
of happy souls
full of the joys
of life
John Lyons
Last night a clear sky
and a full moon
woke in the early hours
heard the screech of foxes
a rabble formed
at the end of the garden
it seemed to go on
forever
and then suddenly
it stopped
but who knows what plot
they were hatching
John Lyons
