Few words are best
too much talk of love
does no favours
put on thy muzzle
and let actions speak
let rivers flow
as time drips
from sand and candles
let four winds blow
put an end to speculation
and just do
what must be done
John Lyons
Beauty of the marshmallow
the edible flower
a delicacy to the eye
and to the palate
rich nourishment
where it flourishes
So much to admire
and to enjoy
the winter sky
sown with fields
of wild stars
visible
on dark nights
rewarding us
with a sense
of perspective
light comfort
red mallows
in August
in the poet’s garden
and the bloom of language
of late love
John Lyons
Words of love
love of words
one or the other
or both
on a chill January night
longing for warmth
warm words
or a companionable body
to share a space until dawn
Love that puts words
into our mouths
or a satiated silence
emotions played out
against a tender timeline
a mutuality of dreams
held to
with steadfast conviction
betrayal not on the cards
These dark nights
when the frost bites
let love’s lamp
shine bright
John Lyons
This way where
the interrogatives
this way how
this way when
the investigative life
the unsettled mind
that questions all things
the whys and the wherefores
the mysteries with which
our lives are riddled
How could she
why did she
why won’t she
what will she
what does she
when was it
and how
and who
O for the natural
affirmative life of nature
pushing forward
constantly
hesitations unknown
each action decisive
and definitive
no doubt
no deception
no tears at bedtime
John Lyons
Across the harbour
the light dips into the water
and dissolves into darkness
Long ago the gulls deserted these parts
where ships no longer moor
A tide of people on the wharfs
but their steps do nothing
to shift the eerie silence
Tall structures of steel and glass
rise up on all sides :
here even on a clear winter’s night
the stars struggle
to make themselves seen
as the anonymous loveless lives below
teeter before being swallowed
by the shadows
John Lyons
And so to Portobello Road
for a new pair
of navy boots
for the New Year
for the new life ahead
the agony
while I break them in
the ecstasy
once they’re broken
Pop into García’s
for chorizo
and black pudding
and notice that they also sell
cured pork fatback
like Italian lardo
and when I get it home
it tastes much the same
a delicious silky sensation
on the tongue
And so it goes on
and you live and learn
some of the time
John Lyons
Came now to peace
the darkness
and the silence
before the light
before the day broke
Heard foxes in retreat
the first cries of the pigeons
Heard the crows
scampering across the roof
all this
before the local world awoke
before the buzz of traffic
in the distance
Peace in the darkness
and in the silence
alone with my thoughts
before the turbulence
of the day
nursing memories
mindful of the blessings
I have received
the love that came and went
but that was for a while
worth living for
John Lyons
I shall set this yellow canvas
aside for a while
and wait to see
what might grow in it
in the imagination
Yellow the colour of
joy and energy and loyalty
of intellect and fresh hope
of the wheat fields
on the foothills
around Arles
or the sunflowers
that Vincent so lovingly
painted with his life
the sky above him
a chrome yellow
almost as bright
as the sun itself
John Lyons
What do we know
of ourselves
much less of others
when words come
so easily
but not at the speed of light
nor the speed of thought
and feelings have no speed
Who really means love
when they say it
and do they even know
or is it merely an illusion
clung to
to provide some shape
the shape of a rose
for example
or of a diamond ring
or of a home
In return for love
came small change
a petty meanness
of self-assertion
such that old bones tremble
as blackness seeps back
into the blood
and silence prevails
Honesty there was
for a while
in the eye
now stone cold
What I longed for
was love at the speed of life
and memories
not condemned to pass
like the breath of time
footsteps that counted
for something more
than idle words
John Lyons
Bare winter time
dark barren skies
a city out of tune
with the stars
None prepared to pay
the price of light
or of love
The old narratives
done to death
Where is there
a vision
to cut through
the drudgery ?
the years
of hollow living
and empty promise ?
Love
is our birthright
betrayal
the most heinous
of crimes
All things end
except love
God preserve
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 