The bones of it

The pitch black sky
           studded with stars
temperature
           dropping away
as a thick frost
           settles
on the grass
           on the parked cars
on the dead
           autumn leaves

tiny pinpricks
           of light create
a map of sorts
           I feel the cold
in my bones
           and a sense
of being lost
           in the immensity
of space
           drifting
carelessly
           through the universe

love alone I know
           will keep me warm
her arms her kiss
           my poetry driven
by the desire
           to immerse myself
in her flesh
           such is my life
these words
           are the bones of it

John Lyons

With the rain come memories

With the rain
come memories
of other damp corners
of my life
threads of drizzle
slowly slipping
down the skylight

light through a clear
pane of glass
rolling tears
of rainwater

with the rain
comes time
and distance
and every age
I’ve lived

from boy to man
all the expectations
of human warmth
to fill the emptiness

a prayer
secretly harboured
for lasting change
for a purposeful love
for a sense of direction

John Lyons

Edited from an earlier post

Alchemy of the natural world

Through my window
           I see it this way : the world
in its winter wardrobe
           the bright berries gone
the hanging fruit all picked
           green turned to rust and gold
a dampness in the atmosphere
           the lawn overgrown
across which squirrels and foxes
           move with greater stealth

I see it not as an end
           or as a failure
but more of a tactical retreat
           in preparation
for all the beauty entailed
           in the spring offensive

John Lyons

Obedience to the world’s business

Obedience to the world’s business
what is that ?

and what of our nature ?
it should be the simplest of things

this drawing in and out of breath
a voice in tune with our emotions

the beating heart drawn
irresistibly towards love

to observe and to admire
how she moves

within the aura of beauty
What special purpose is ours

other than to be
the embodiment of love ?

John Lyons

A magpie perched

Trick or treat
           beauty or truth
body and soul
           so the voice goes
a magpie perched
           on the branch
of an apple tree
           pecks at the fruit
and the branch rocks
           and the wind rises
through this suburban
           universe

Light captured
           in autumn colours
a flurry of rusty leaves
           falling through
the wintry air
           a love so deep
so satisfying
           a love to die for
a love that makes
           life worth living
The magpie picks
           at the sour fruit
will never know
           of the joy that runs
through my heart
           trick or treat

John Lyons