A poem by any other name

I see the gulls circling
in the grey sky
above the copse on the hill
their wide wings fully stretched
they glide effortlessly
round and round and round
but settle nowhere

To see them so far inland
creates a sense of foreboding
signalling perhaps a sudden change
in the weather or a storm at sea :
in these parts they are interlopers
harmless enough but not welcome

We are at the year end
when the season of joy peters out
and we must ready ourselves
for the long haul into spring
with the threat of ice and snow
or any other natural disaster

What life teaches us is to resist
to be open to change but not
to allow it to defeat us
to cling to hope
and where there’s love
to value and nurture it
so that it never dies :
there is nothing else

John Lyons

You do the maths

Number lies at the heart
           of a countable universe
Three white dogs
           playing tag in the park
seen with my own two eyes
           Even infinity is infinitely
countable and galaxies
           have fingers that point
to other constellations
           and every planet
is a matter of arithmetic
           just as every sparrow
in the field and every hair
           on every head
and every gullible fool
           who ever fell in love

John Lyons

Pollination

Petals
           modified leaves
that surround a flower’s
           reproductive parts
Brightly coloured
           seductively shaped
organic lingerie
           worn under the cover
of protective scales
           until the time is ripe
at which point
           the scales fall away
and all is revealed
           finally
to the desired
           pollinator

Bluebells growing

Bluebells growing
in the quiet dust
the heavy scent
of ferns rising up
from the forest loam

Birdsong
and at night
a shallow moon
now that the solstice
has passed

Soon the scarlet roses
will come into bloom
and the air will carry
their fragrance
far and wide

Youth is ending
but age is a blessing
and love is the radiance
that fills this earth
with grace and there is
no greater mystery

John Lyons

My nativity

What we celebrate
           is the ability to draw breath
consciously and to utter
           words in praise
of the beauty of life
           and the dignity of the self
in all that matters
           and in which love
is the bedrock
           of justice and peace

Though I may twist and turn
           in the early hours
asking myself when will it end
           I never really want it to stop
I mean the pulse
           that drives my blood
to write these words
           and to delight in acts
of knowingly being
           I’m so much more
than the sum of my particulars
           behind which I may be said
on occasions to hide
           but the warm vapours 
rise from my mouth
           as I step out
into this frosty morning
           anxious to salute
the first questions of the day
           But let me tell you this first :
I am completely allowable and equal
           to every act of love
if only you know
           where to find me

John Lyons

A question of words

Of course the universe
           is anything but silent
and yet nature
           has contrived
on this earth at least
           to create spaces and moments
of absolute peace and quiet
           places of solitude
in which the mind may graze
           on its own feelings
and be thankful for the lack
           of intrusion or interference

And the question always arises
           why words why the voice
why the web of language
           that seems to hold our world
together and without which
           we might cease to exist
such as we are : verbal creatures
           who build lives around clusters
of utterances some superficial
           other binding to the core
in which we tell our truth
           and shame the devil we know
and make vows upon which our very lives
           our very loves depend

John Lyons