Variation on a winter day

How shall we survive
           in the thin-streaming
winter light through
           the days of hard frost
when our breath curls
           from our mouths
and our skin shivers

We who are born alone
           and seek only the company
and acceptance of others
           how shall we use our days
to further the pursuit
           of warmth and affection
how shall we bring colour
           where nature is stripped
to the bone or beneath
           the black sky where
shimmering stars fill
           that frozen space

We on the wide earth
           who do never know
where our steps will end
           nor what form it will take
nor by what rules of clemency
           our lives’ work will be judged

John Lyons

Improvisations

Beauty ingrained in the soul
           that we carry through our time
in the world
           and everywhere we invent
a sea and mountains
           and deep river valleys and listen
for the changing seasons
           our minds bathed in words
We see roses shiver on their stems
           gulls cavorting down by the pier
sparrows hopping
           from branch to branch
and watch at night
           as the stars tell tales
of our lives
           and what is beauty
but the mystery of life
           the pulse and the beat of breath
on our faces and the sense
           of all that may happen
and the memory
           of all that has

John Lyons

Improvisações

A beleza enraizada na alma
           que carregamos no nosso tempo
no mundo
           e em todo lugar inventamos
um mar e montanhas e profundos
           vales fluviais e ouvimos
as mudanças das estações
           nossas mentes banhadas em palavras
Nós vemos rosas tremer
           em suas hastes
gaivotas brincando pelo cais
           pardais pulando de galho em galho
e assistimos à noite
           enquanto as estrelas contam histórias
de nossas vidas
           e o que é beleza
senão o mistério da vida
           o pulso e a batida da respiração
em nossos rostos e a sensação
           de tudo que pode acontecer
e a memória
           de tudo que tem sido

versão de John Lyons

Out of the heart’s handbook

Disbelieve the poem
           that never stutters
that from the outset
           knows where it’s heading

Disbelieve the sense
           of certainty
about this and that
           the utter complacency
of words that never
           require to be unravelled

Disbelieve the poem
           that puts the moon
and the stars
           on the same page
where butterflies flutter
           and roses are red
and love is as straight
           as a die

Disbelieve the poem
           that gives all
it has to give
           at first glance
without a glimmer
           of seductive mystery

Turn instead to the oyster
           within its shell
that awaits you on a bed of ice
           with its natural pearls
that the eyes devour
           that the tongue covets
and the delicate
           silence of love that tugs
at the orchestral strings
           of the unbroken heart

John Lyons

She was the voice

She was the voice
           of the night
the voice of the day
           she was the voice
of the sea
           she was the voice
of the wind
           she was the voice
of the moon and stars
           she was the voice

When the world
           was silent
and no light shone
           she was the voice
in my ear
           she was the words
on my tongue
           and all the words
I did not speak
           I saved for her
in my heart
           sun or shine
she was the voice
           that filled my thoughts
in a universe
           awash with noise
she was the only voice
           I heard

John Lyons

On the surface of things

That fox is back
           this afternoon
lounging on the shed roof
           nothing better to do
throughout the day
           I never saw a creature
so laid back
           It pays no attention
to the ginger cat crossing
           the lawn before mounting
the low garden wall
           and tipping its body
over the side
           and out of sight

There are birds in the bushes
           too that are singing
for each other :
           the fox pays them no heed
The morning rain has passed
           and the sun is out finally
It could have been a better day
           but it could have been worse
and the fox couldn’t care less
           it lives its life on the surface
of things and at this stage
           of the game it’s seen it all

John Lyons

A rush of blood

A squirrel that one day
           I saw shoot up a tree
right to the very top
           way in the distance

and I wondered
           what had driven it
to run so fast
           as though its life
depended on it
           and maybe it did

but there were
           no predators around
as far as I could see
           so it must have been
sheer exuberance
           a rush of adrenaline

surging through its limbs
           but having reached
the very top
           there was nowhere
left for it to go
           but down

John Lyons

Summer idyll

The rich past remembered
           strawberries on the lawn
the smell of freshly cut grass
           the bushes thick with lavender
and roses in full bloom
           a sky unbroken but for the birds
aimless in their timeless flight
           the dragonflies hovering
over the pond where water spiders
           stepped magically creating
tiny depressions in the surface
           nature’s circus in full swing
and the dust of our days settling
           all around us as the evenings
drew on and we clung
           to all our loves for dear life

John Lyons