Poetry
is
boxing
with
words
it
should
always
pack
a
punch
never
turn
a
blind
eye
never
let
its
guard
down
keep
shuffling
on
the tip
of
the
toes
finish
off
with
a right
and
a
left
John Lyons
Nothing
to report
today
from the
scene
of myself
John Lyons
Every colour of the rainbow
and the fact that they will fade
is unimportant
their beauty depends
on so many factors
the light and the soil
in which they grew
the evolution of their genes
how a single flower
developed into so many
singular species
and how we evolved
to admire them
and to value their beauty
their long tongue-like leaves
the slender stems
upon which a chalice
of bright petals
is raised in a toast
to creation
John Lyons
If it had snowed
at least once this year
I might have been content
or if it had rained
for forty days and forty nights
that would have been something
to write home about :
instead another election
is upon us and how awful
for them to call it
during the pollen season
how utterly thoughtless
useless these politicians
some of them
I have to say
get right up my nose
worse than pollen
much
John Lyons
Last night at sunset
the dying down of the day
birds singing
to a very different tune
instilling a sense of distance
and silence and peace :
one day at a time
trusting in one’s breath
and in all those things
dear to the heart
the consolation of a fixed
starry firmament
belief in oneself
and in the day to come
John Lyons
I think of the orchids
the solitary lives they live
a beauty that unless
given pride of place
withers unknown
and unloved
I think of time
and the terror its exercises
on those who have everything
to lose and nothing to gain
as it marches on relentlessly
either our lives change
or we change our lives
we take control of the reins
and live according to our choices
and love decisively
for the moment and always
or we allow time to have
the last laugh
which believe me
is not funny
Half the shell of a coconut
hanging by a piece of string
from the window frame
of a room close to the Great Vine
a tiny blue tit appears
out of nowhere
and perches inside
the shell and pecks
at the white flesh
and with each thrust
of its beak the shell spins
round and round
and I just stand and watch
until the bird has had its fill
and flies off into the last
of the gentle April showers
on the last day of the month
and the sun comes out
and it gladdens my heart
and my day is made
John Lyons
How
many
words
does
it
take
to
change
your
life
forever
?
John Lyons
For Sophia on your wedding day
You arrived in a blast of winter ice
And snow flurries
The church clock chimed midnight
Shortly after your first cry
Tuesday’s child is full of grace
I whispered and so you were.
You stared at me as if to say
I know you
I have heard your voice
I have lain beneath your
Beating heart
I have felt your
Love even before I
Became me.
Now you are mine and
I am yours for ever
You grow into
This impossibly beautiful
Creature and I know
That one day your loving
Trusting gaze will light
On another.
We are at that place today
And as I watch you shimmer
And sparkle among the
Flowers and candles
Within this sacred place
I will say a silent thank you
For all that has been and
Is yet to come.
Molly Rosenberg
29 April 2017
The poem below is based on a reading of the works of the Saint Lucian poet, Derek Walcott (1930-2017), winner of the 1992 Nobel Prize in Literature.
What is time
in the context of universe
and what is verse
the unified voice of poetry
but an opportunity
to live love explicitly
under the star-speckled sky
how the river wearies
slows
grows sluggish
deposits silt on its bed
is swallowed within
the immense depths
of the rapacious sea
Always time and the river
and clusters of lovers
clinging to each other
in the darkness
and in the light
and in the forest
the heavy seas of foliage
tossing in the storm winds
the air thick with pollen
and occasional blossom
and sweeping skirts of rain
penetrating the soil
as day bleeds into night
the petty pace that creeps
and the poetry of it all
and the words that bind
our lives together
so that we sail through time
on a raft of significant sense
abrupt angels riding
the turbulence of our dreams
and here and there in our wake
the signatures of love
and intermittent accounts of accurate distress
when we find ourselves walled in
by the architectures of isolation
Time
the slow drip drip of words
the slow exhalation of breath
time that is our birth and our death
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 