The early morning
chatter of birds
never idle
never pointless
a roll call
present
and fighting fit
here I am
let the day begin
bring it on
time may ruffle
our feathers
but it will never
defeat us
and by God it’s great
to be alive
John Lyons
With silver light
the sun sets
handing the day
to night
in the darkness
your body my horizon
your murmur
sound of the sea
the moon hides
in the tall trees
their branches
winnowing the wind
love’s simplicity
defies definition
but my heart
never tires of its song
John Lyons
April showers May flowers
Bluebells line the railway line
the sun hides in the sky
and at night the darkness
beats at my window
I see silence all around me
I hear it in my heart
the stillness of trees
that long for birds
to alight on their branches
April flowers May showers
and lambs frolic in the fields
the beautiful illusion of blue skies
and summer silences
At night the world curls
into a ball
sleeps by my door
until first light
when untrammelled dreams
unravel before my eyes
an occupational hazard
pays lip service to love
John Lyons
So many times
I slept by your side
woke before you
and lay there
admiring the beauty
you embody
the softness of your breath
your lips pursed
the calm assurance
with which you dreamt
your cares away
I longed for you to wake
but waited patiently
until your eyelids
began to flicker
and finally opened
and welcomed me
with a smile
into your heart
my love
John Lyons
The dry dust
of those summer months
the clink of metal ball
upon metal ball –
lives played out
in those quaint village squares
where the mimosa’s faded blooms
are trodden under foot
where the lovers
who once lived there
are long gone –
and where time
clings to time
for dear life
John Lyons
Version en français
La poussière sèche
de ces mois d’été
le tintement de la balle en métal
sur une balle en métal –
vies jouées
dans ces pittoresques places de village
où les fleurs fanées du mimosa
sont foulées par terre
où les amants
qu’y ont vécu
sont depuis longtemps partis –
et où le temps
s’accroche au temps
pour chère vie
Flesh pricked on the briar
blood of my blood
let the proud rose be rose
let the sweet nightingale sing
let love be love
true only to itself –
no simulations no deception
pure as the night is long
gentle as our days
are numbered
John Lyons
The shape of silence
the space filled
by your absence –
by words unsaid
by gestures unmade
– memories
the only oxygen
keeping me alive
The shape of silence
in the world at large
– places walked
bridges crossed
down by the riverside
in the shadow
of the Tower
past Traitor’s Gate
as the river rose
as the river fell
slipping away silently
to drown at sea
The shape of silence
in the night
in the chambers
of my heart
John Lyons
To study in depth
Paul Eluard’s 1921
collection of poems
The necessities of life
and the consequences
of dreams
Beauty charm
gentleness
and joy
Truth
on a page
Delight in all things
life
Love at the heart
John Lyons
Last weekend I purchased the first volume of Éluard’s Oeuvres complètes (Pléiade edition). I’m overwhelmed by the beauty of his early poetry
At dawn I rise
from my bed of flesh
and re-enter the world
of words
her flesh is warm
and soft and comforting
but I must disentangle
from her arms and stand
to address the day
that waits at my door
in her eyes
the clouds of sleep
drift still
beauty is timeless
though it clings
to memory
the poetry of peace
and justice melts
into the heart
of love
John Lyons
That evening we spent
with Ulyana and her friend
talking over a bottle of wine
while the shades of Cézanne
and Oscar Wilde moved
among the tables
There where the Surrealists
once came to blows
with their opponents
you talked of the politics
dividing the Ukrainians
of Philadelphia
the egos and the rivalries
the desire to control
there where back in the day
Picasso and Modigliani
came calmly to chat
and Joyce and Beckett
and on occasions
Gertrude Stein
and Hemingway
of course
in every bar
But I’d gladly return there
with you if you would too :
would you ?
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 