Ceremonial

Love not of words
           but deeds and actions
life fleshed out
           in passionate embrace
a consonance
           of unashamed breath
and voices locked
           in a single refrain

Sound silence
           of omnipresent love
bodily conceived
           budded in the rose
star-strewn love
           tender the touch
of her breast
           on his breast
lush lips singularly
           articulate
his hands drawn
           to the lobes of her ears
to the hollow of her throat
           to her hair
to her waist
           to the limbs that flow below
to her glistering eyes
           to the ardent truth
of her warm disposition
           to the shapely
dance of her step
           to the banter of sea
that flows in her blood
           to the body
that knows more than her head
           to desire just
as the sun rises
           to a crescent moon

John Lyons

Caution to the wind

We never can be born enough :
           to be born is to feel
and to express those feelings
           with words decisively
and to write like nobody else
           when everybody writes
like everybody else

We are born to eternity
           to breath and to feeling
to warmth and to love
           and to words

Born to speak and to write
           from our indefatigable destiny
and from the intrinsic truth
           and humility of our inalienable voice

Nothing false
           nothing hating
nothing loveless
           nothing easy
nothing small
           nothing ordinary
nothing empty or unreal
           nothing feeble
nothing clumsy
           nothing guessed
nothing fearful
           nothing nowhere
nothing nonsense
           but always
innocent and eager
           and flesh and blood
and impossible
           and impetuous
and daring and tender
           and now or never
soul over heart over 
           hand over mouth
always caution
           to the wind

John Lyons

Aquarium in oils

An aquarium of the mind
A constellation in which
Tenderly tentative ideas
Swim back and forth dressed as fish,
Obsessively. Richly coloured, richly textured,
Slender, stylized darts of pigmented life,
Of aimless endeavour, to and fro across
An acrylic mental canvas that dreams
Of the sea, the Caribbean, eluding
History among the reefs of reality,
Simple strokes of the brush
On the retina; mouths open or
Closed, or poised in a perpetual
Kiss, games of chase and tag
And dog-eat-dog, a frenzy
Of never-ending childhoods,
Of innocence, and the complete absence
Of intent. Timeless as an oceanic
Consciousness that never rests, wave
Upon wave upon wave of fish,
Kinetic energies fastened
To the fabric of our thoughts,
Subtle shades of simplicity which
Strip away the complexities
Of human blindness: a rose
Is a rose but a fish is a fish
And sometimes an iridescent rose
With wide eyes and an appetite
And a will to exist, flourishing
Just below the surface, all
In the stems of ancestral DNA.
It soothes and caresses
The imagination which
Swallows it whole. There is
Only one context, one
Environment, and we are in it,
Daily bathe in it, are bathed in it,
All together, whence we came
Where we are bound, and so
Much closer than to dogs
Or to cats, unquestionably
In our element, all species
Reduced to one as my father
Swam to meet my mother
In the womb.

John Lyons

Who knows

Who knows when time will end
             time our curse and comfort
or when the blood of desire
             will run dry and the taut skin
fall away from the bone :
             love is as voracious as the wind
that effaces our inner topographies
             that wears the river bed
                          down to the sea

I hear the cry of gulls
             who have abandoned the shore
on this downcast day
             I see them pirouette in the grey sky
watch as they usurp the air space
             of magpie and pigeon and crow
timeless birds / variations
             on the theme of sunlight

today no embroidered light
             today the line is slack
and no fish will bite
             the pier all but deserted
today not so much
             as a broken rainbow
not a single smile
             trapped in the mirror

Today will pass
             but who knows
when time will end
             your time and mine

John Lyons

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