In the process of being
this is whom I once was
before being
who I am now
A portrait
by my own hand
by my own eyes
on A4 vellum
in pen pencil
and charcoal
this is
the crushed ash
of whom
I once was
will be again
caught here
just before
love struck
John Lyons
Under the cover of darkness
snails engage in erratic movement
leaving a thin trail behind them :
survival of the species demands
that they seek out new sources
of nutrition in order
to secure their line
energy to drag their shells
forward into the future
just as I leave in my wake
a haphazard dribble
of words and colours
John Lyons
The green water is flat
and barely moving
its shimmering surface
carries the liquid reflection
of a couple
it is any time
any place where lovers
might be observed
there is silence
they are embracing
kisses are timeless
infinitesimal hiccups
in the senseless exploding
universe
but they are also
purpose
energies directed
pianissimo
from the heart
they are also language
wordless articulations
a commonwealth of feelings
of shared emotions
as if nothing else
matters in the world
John Lyons
Revised
After the violent storm
the silence
the stillness
a period of recuperation
strolling at night
beneath the stars
little movement
in the trees
no birdsong
the moon not visible
a pleasant temperature
a lightness in our steps
How easy it is at times
to be human
and yet at other times less so
our shifting lives
and the treacherous illusions
of our logic
Heavy thoughts
when the soul is hurt
when love has been
withdrawn
and we become
lost in words
when our pain
has nowhere to turn
John Lyons
Revised
Bursts of lightning
scattering the darkness
thick drops of rain
beating against the pane
I stare out
across the green horizon
: yesterday a butterfly
today a moth
come to bury its eggs
in her cashmere
she counts her trinkets
under an atrocious moon
a sad child squats
in silence
John Lyons
The colours we lay down
over the years in our lives
the different textures
of relationships
the shapes we make
with our world materials
Expressions of joy
or of pain
or of mystification
expressions of love
our markers
and our touchstones
Love was only ever good
in the making of it
in the breathing of it
generosities of the soul
affections so worded
that they warmed the heart
but life so fragmentary
and cursed by ambition
bonds broken
for thirty pieces of silver
John Lyons
This is where the blood thickens
with time with age
with hair losing its natural colour
with skin becoming dry
and lined with the bitter-sweet
badges of experience
This is where the only lessons learnt
are self-taught and remembrance
threatens to overwhelm
with constant impulses to return
to what was in any case
dysfunctional and unsatisfactory
out of keel and unbalanced
it takes skill to live life
with passion whilst not offending
justice and good sense
nor to be duped
by honey-tongued princesses
Recall the calves
the thick varicose veins
the spent knees
and the multiplicities of indifference
You who are needful of a human life
grasp it while you can
be muscular in your pursuit of love
fearless in your acts of pleasure
repay tenderness in kind
and seek what wisdom lies
deep behind the eyes
remember too that the rose
once dwelt in the stars
as did its thorns
as did your bones
and hers too
John Lyons
So that’s life
things as they are
the days and the hours
love and its absence
melody and monotone
restless fingers plucking
at an old guitar
the buzz of flies
around what is dead
the buzz of bees
around bounteous nectar
things as they are
such as desire
such as love
such as consummation
such as indifference
such as loss
the nothing-changingness
of abandonment
hence the poets’
drifting ships
and he who stoppeth
one in three
a life that leans
into the shadows
ducks to avoid
the scrutiny of light
steers by way
of wayward stars
head floundering
in the clouds
things as they are
or were
the leaden lips
of a dead kiss
memories taken
by the throat
poetry a work
of the mind
things as they are
or as they were
once
but enough
John Lyons
Attuned to the eloquence of light
and shifting shades of darkness
all our perceptions coloured
by subtle changes of circumstance
a poetry steeped in mindful inflections
number breath and melody
the immense orchestration of life
whether in the busy thoroughfares
or simply contemplating an empty
landscape or watching the foamy sea
sift through sand on the shore
there were thirteen blackbirds
all of which took to the air
spread wings and flew out
beyond the poem back to where
they belonged in the innocence
of non-judgmental nature
poetry : the sacrament of praise
John Lyons
I had a mind to love you
but you wouldn’t let me
you dyed your honey hair
to defy your age
and painted your nails
to add allure to each gesture
I had a mind to love you
but you wouldn’t let me
How often we huddled close
as the sharp wind blew
alongside the river sending shudders
into the night
How often did I draw you in
for a kiss and in jest
and when you smiled
the moon shone
and your dyed hair became
fibres of light and your nails
glistened and just for a moment
it seemed that you loved me
but you didn’t
because you couldn’t
I had a mind to love you
and a body of blood
in which to wrap your soul
but you wouldn’t let me
John Lyons
Revised
johnjosephlyons 