Yesterday four dark horses
grazing in their paddocks
the rich green grass
under a brilliant blue sky
and all around trees
in autumn meltdown
but the scene one of peace
of indifference to the passage
of time and the coming
and going of seasons
or the coming and going
of their mounts : horses
living off the fat of the land
with no agenda
John Lyons
How this autumn light
guilds all things with gold
golden leaves about to fall
the purity of two white swans
that lift the tiny lake
out of banality
with their majestic glide
the simplicities of nature
that soothe
the aching heart
those who wish for perfection
need only look around
it’s there on all sides
and in all things
everything perfectly
as it is and should be
and the words with which
to celebrate
all that we see
and all that we feel
John Lyons
Two ill-painted peaches
and 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
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
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
The flowers
pink roses
do not say
that I love you
I say that
I love you
The flowers
are there
in support
of my words
I love you
in words
and in deed
The flowers
have thorns
my words
do not
The flowers
will die
my love
will not
John Lyons
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
The flower of the gods
born into the palm
of my hand
today stripped
of your beard
prostrate
searching for
the sense of it all
on that day
the world changed
with your smile
with your laughter
with the light
in your eyes
bearded flower
of the gods
those gods
that walk among us
that breathe our air
and feed on our food
on that day
colours came
reds and blues and pink
and greens and yellows
on the edges of the fields
in the scrubland
where wormword grew
on that day
you smelt of birth
and thrashed
your tiny limbs
and in my hands
I felt the warmth
of your innocence
and loved you
as I do today
John Lyons
Nobody cries
over the death
of fallen leaves
Nobody cries
over the death
of those who fall
in distant wars
the innocent cut down
by remote control
Nobody sees their faces
or knows their names
or really cares at all
Nobody cries
over the death
of fallen leaves
knowing that spring
will bring renewal
Nobody cries
over the death
of those who fall
in distant wars
though they are
gone forever
John Lyons
What have we here
a painting of three
two alike and one non
representing
the fruit of life :
nothing concords
with art
and words
are not replicas
the paint is unique
neither good nor bad
just of itself
as is love
neither one thing
nor another
merely itself
and there is texture
and feinted shadows
and a ripeness
that goes to the core
but this is life
apples and orange
trying to capture life
availing itself
of the materials to hand
love that extemporizes
that is love
that exists beyond
the realm of times
love that shifts its shape
and its complexion
but is always original
because repetition
is a myth created
by Plato since there is
nothing old under the sun
and love is evolution
and constant innovation
and art couldn’t care less
or give a damn
for anything else
except love
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 