Peonies

Think pink thrill
of the peonies
their curvaceous
double bloom
their petalled layers
of fragrant frills
skirting a deeper
fertile mystery

John Lyons

Against decadent decay

A world put under the mind’s scalpel
that world within a world
of words and nouns and verbs
a poetry of things that co-opts them
into the world of thought and feeling

Who salutes the morning dew
or pays homage to the heroic harvest
or sings of time’s magnificence
and all that filters through it
who sets the frailty of rosebuds
against the strength of love
Whose naming encompasses
the sun and the moon and the stars
or traps the compelling beauty
of the cosmos in order to investigate
the vast poetics of space
with all its untold relativities
so that no thing remains dumb
or inanimate or is abandoned
to the decaying decadence of defeat ?

John Lyons

Resurrecting the day

The early morning air misty
           and heavy with summer scents
and through the silence
           of the reawakening day
come the raucous cries
           of crow and magpie
black and black and white
           and still a primeval innocence
as on that first day
           before there were days
and no note was taken
           and in the distance
the tall trees a shadow
           of themselves though the sun
will soon lift the mantle
           of stupour

Footsteps hasten along the street
           headed for the station
to the train that will transport them
           to a different territory
and all the life that that entails
           Under the moon there may have been
a night of passion or of despair
           or of nothing but the repetition
of nothing with no softness
           or no caress nor any word
of kindness to lift the soul
           the day now ahead
to be improvised
           the rich red rose to be admired
and love never to be forgotten
           and hope never to be abandoned

John Lyons

War zone

A commotion of crows
           cawing at my window
a call to arms perhaps
           what are you waiting for
get the job done
           we have been patient
as the days and months
           slipped by and the world
remained the same
           this is our world too
we were here before
           you ever set foot
before you ever appeared
           we roamed the fields
and soared in the skies
           when the earth was
a place of harmony
           free from wars
and bitter divisions :
           blessed are
the peacemakers
           if you can find them

John Lyons

Life’s credentials

Love
           here where
the petals fell
           and withered
into dust
           remained

Now
           with years
piled upon me
           less supple
of limb
           and mind
less agile
           love remains

Words are actions
           actions words
the deed of truth
           is all that lasts
and life until
           love’s last breath

John Lyons

Shadows

There have been shadows in my life
           big shadows
in the narrow corners
           of my days
in the perplexed horizons
           of my shuffled nights

There have been black shadows
           that danced without word
around the cradle of my childhood
           shadows without grandfather
without grandmother
           But not for that any less ghostly
any less full
           of horror

There have been shadows in the pulses
           of my feet that have often stumbled
in the light night of midday.
           There have been shadows of flesh and blood
and pestilential kisses
           I wouldn’t want to deny it.

Who has never felt
           the dead weight of shadows
at the rooster’s dismantled hour ?
           Who has never half awoken
to a slick silky
           insatiable hunger
and a sadness
           beyond measure ?

There have been shadows
           on my shoes
on my shirts
           across my illiterate walls
riddled with vain tasks
           that have been left undone
The stuttering shadows
           of  speechless distances
and the inconsolable
           sloth of death
There have been shadows
           my friends

John Lyons

The cycle

Punctured tires
      rusty chain
brakes with loose cables
      and lacking rubber blocks
the saddle worn
      the back wheel twisted

How sad
      my abandoned cycle
looks
      a sad reflection
of a rusty
      abandoned life

John Lyons