Dark night
of the winter sky
a half-moon
a chill wind
foxes slinking away
in the distance
I look up
and count the stars
my lucky stars
as long as
I can
count them
they’re all
lucky
John Lyons
Angels more common
than one would think
they move among us
silently and their silence
is their message :
the aura of innocence
lambs that gambol
and skip and small
children who love
blue skies and open fields
in which to romp
laughter on their lips
To attempt to describe them
would be foolish
for they are better known
by their actions
pure and unselfish
Wherever there is love
the angels are present
they are the filters
through which our words
pass when we wish
to praise the beauty of life
in all its truth
John Lyons
Sometimes in the fiercest driving storm
of wind and rain or hail or snow
a great eagle will appear over the river
now soaring with steady
and now thrashing wings
always confronting the gale
or perhaps cleaving into it
or at times literally sitting upon it
It’s like reading some first-class
natural tragedy or epic
or hearing martial trumpets
: the splendid bird
enjoys the hubbub
is adjusted and equal to it
finishes it so artistically
his pinions just oscillating
the position of head and neck
his resistless varied flight
now a swirl
now an upward rush
the black clouds driving
and down below
the angry wash
the hiss of rain
the wind’s piping
the bird tacking or jibing
and now for a moment
abandoning himself to the gale
racing with it at such speed
and now resuming control
he comes up against it
lord of the situation and the storm
lord in the midst of it
of power and savage joy
Walt Whitman
From Specimen Days (1882), adapted by John Lyons
Back in the day of chilblains
when all things froze
when my hands
shook with the cold
The swirl and flicker of snow
around the street lamps
the softness
of our footfalls
as we trudged
through the streets
Back in the days
of innocence
before experience
and knowledge blew away
the mystery of life
the life that lay
before me
the life that lies
before me
the life in which
nothing but love
makes any sense
This is what I struggle
to say
I the lover I struggle
to be
John Lyons
The life we build
in our memory
never-to-be-forgotten
moments of love
the days that will
stay with us forever
the simplicity
of being together
the hours and days
shared
and the words
laid down
as a record
Love
as we know
is not complex
it goes straight
to the heart
and all things
are less than love
John Lyons
As I was crossing the Delaware to-day
I saw a large flock of wild geese
right overhead not very high up
ranged in V-shape
in relief against the noon clouds
of light smoke-colour
Had a capital
though momentary
view of them
and then of their course
on and on southeast
till gradually fading
Strange thoughts
melted into me
seeing these creatures
cleaving the sky
the spacious airy realm
even the prevailing
smoke-gray colour everywhere
no sun shining
the waters below
the rapid flight of the birds
appearing just for a minute
revealing to me such a hint
of the whole spread of Nature
with her eternal
unsophisticated freshness
her never-visited recesses
of sea and sky
and shore
and then disappearing
in the distance
Walt Whitman
Adapted by John Lyons from Specimen Days (1882)
On a cold winter morning
the magpie bathes
in the garden bird bath
Three times I saw it
jump into the icy water
and flutter its wings
so as to wet itself
all over
and each time it jumped out
and sat shivering on the wall
fluttering it wings
in order to shake off the excess
before repeating the exercise
a plump black and white magpie
time carelessly beating in its breast
and who knows what
running through its mind
full of the joys of life
John Lyons
