Unanimously Monday

Unanimously Monday
          we go our own ways
to better or worse
          fare thee well good stars
our pockets filled
          with the past
that we carry
          from place to place

here the rains fell
          and the river rose
and flowed swiftly
          relentlessly
trapped by the force
          of gravity out
into the all enveloping
          ocean

Sunday dialogues turn
          to Monday monologues
the old hours gone
          the way of peaches
and cream
          and trifles all

But the memories remain
          of the steps taken
of hand-held love
          and kisses blown
on the wind
          our dust held tightly
in the grip of time
          past caring

One by one
          the petals tumbled
from the yellow roses
          Monday mourns them

John Lyons

Concision

Love 
form
shape
weight
words
   
a face
a voice
a gesture
many
silence

John Lyons

Time for a poem

What you notice
          as you go through your day
is the gentle tug of time
          how it urges you
to accomplish something
          to achieve
to make a difference
          to be someone

Time stands there
          looking over your shoulder
a would-be second conscience
          advising you to ignore
the rose and the butterfly
          with their carefree beauty
to look no longer into the pond
          where the fish idle so pleasantly
but to be about your business
          and the task in hand

John Lyons

Single pigeon

A single pigeon
          sitting on the very summit
of a conifer
          possesses innate skills
that I could never
          in a million years master
For one : it can fly
          and for another : it has
a sense of direction
          second to none

I observe it now
          against the backdrop
of a grey sky
          preening its feathers
as the sun rises
          It is emblematic
of nature
          but knows nothing
of itself
          does not see itself
has no I
          and does not write

John Lyons

Monday morning

Suddenly green again
          the fields that the summer
burnt away
          vanished the crisp dry grass
now rolling pastures
          and lush meadow

Tireless renewal
          what the sun scorches
the sun brings back to life
          and the days when we
went down to the sea
          are behind us
when we sat on the promenade
          watching the waves
of families as they passed by
          the children eating their lollies
the parents
          chatting their lives away

There’ll be no more roses
          until next spring
though imports may
          see us through

The pebbles and stones
          and sand on the beach
and the sea with a history
          all of its own
an archaeology even
          a strange murky kingdom
not quite of this world
          Winter is a simplification
it strips away all but
          the very essence of life
what must go on
          In the summer love
comes out to play
          to frolic
in wide open spaces
          In the winter it gets cosy
draws up a blanket
          lies still : lovers all
hugging their silent dreams
          through the faltering hours

John Lyons

Nature’s upper hand

   Notice so soon
         after the drought
   the long weeks
         without rain
   how soon the grass
         has returned to green
    
   One evening
         the heavens opened
   with a sudden storm
         now the coarse dry fields  
   we walked across
         are back to lush
   pasture as though
         the past had never been

John Lyons

Bloodlands

To speak of blood
     what is in it
what feeds it
     what raises it
its metaphysical weight
     the price of it
the thirst for it
     the lack of it
 
 bloodied beauty
      of the red rose
 of a red sun sinking
      below the horizon
whether the making
      of good or bad blood
the tangled bloodlines
      that bind us together
that set us apart
       the war and peace

John Lyons