A declaration of independence

This then
           is the voice of me
the breath and the wherewithal
           of me
the much-travelled road
           the all seen and done of me
I place flowers in my poetry
           roses above all
and the beauty of her flesh
           that I sing because it is there
to be sung
           to be praised to the heavens
as all truth is
           I have my geography
I wear it under my chin
           I sleep with it at night
I ferry it from place to place
           I am an archipelago of selves
and yet dwell in my oneness
           if there is an energy greater
than the power of love
           please let me know
I would trim my hair
           and polish my shoes
in order to have the pleasure
           but I doubt
I doubt there is anything
           truer or more constant
than love
           no weather can destroy it
no years no times no place
           it is at the very heart
of my life
           it is what palpitates
what glows with its own
           quite special radiation
it is there for all to see
           shamelessly affirmative
it is what poetry
           was made for

John Lyons

A fact

Two decoys
in a pond off
Kensington
High Street
and a live
mallard
charmed out
of the sky by
a man-made
cascade

John Lyons

The artist

In the grand scheme of things
           we have come far
and yet we are nowhere
           not even the facts of life
are straight
           and we remain
fodder for time :
           unresolved quests
and ambitions
           beyond our station

What is to be expected
           from mere flesh and blood
entrusted with a single mission
           to love and be loved

So often it is all an act
           and death is an over-
simplification
           On the banks
of the primeval river
           he took clay into his hands
shaped it into the form
           of man and woman
breathed life into his creations
           so that they might live forever

John Lyons

Word watching

A vision in words
           while the heart beats
all pleasures possible
           but who has lived
without fault
           without regret
without recrimination
           on the path that leads
over the blue hills

there is no time
           just body
mere experience
           nothing more local
than the soul
           which is the point
of being

as I live
           as I die
I am known by
           my particulars
how can I distinguish
           between the space
around me
           and the inner space
of my mind
           there where I feel pain
I feel love
           and have no shell
no notional carapace
           to protect me

I must be open to every storm
           just as I would welcome
any word of kindness
           all things are possible
all things are probable
           and that includes love

John Lyons

A few simple words

When in belief
           you move your limbs
you stir the muscles
           that will carry you
to a place of beauty
           to a time of truth
be it a lone flower
           that otherwise
would not be admired
           or to a person whom
a single act of kindness
           could rescue
from the brink
           of God knows what

John Lyons

A life measured

A life measured in footsteps
           in paces taken
in voices and in gestures
           in kisses given
and kisses withheld
           a life measured in skies
numbered and tabulated
           in the heart
and how the land inclined
           this way and that
with its separate foliage
           and its exotic birds
that flowered all year round
           A life measured in harmonies
in peace at dawn
           and as the sun set
a life measured
           in questions and answers
and in the congress of bodies
           and the warmth of skin upon skin
days lived in the absence
           of anger and discord
and the poems there
           to tell of love
and to count our steps
           to heaven

John Lyons

The red rose

It rises up
           out of the earth
at first a thing
           of frailty
but it grows in strength
           it blossoms
its petals attract
           all manner of attention
the bee gorges
           on its pollen
but the days of its glory
           are short and soon gone
its beauty fades
           its leaves curl and dry
and slowly but surely
           it falls back
to the earth
           love outlasts it

John Lyons