The patter of rain after days
of unbroken sunshine
grey skies and a hush
across the world
birdsong silenced
and the foxes snug
in their burrows
As shadows shelter
beneath oak and ash
I marshal my dreams
and plan for a future
without her
John Lyons
Yes culture too is breath
and all breath comes
from the stars
and we know
that when the breath cools
it’s time to move on
She will withhold her kisses
and in her eyes there will be
disdain and she will glance
away into the future
toward the life she has planned
for your absence
Passion is our birthright
and we are born
to hold one another
in our arms
and our words are there
to console in times of grief
to support in times of distress
and to express the love
that never dies when it is
true love
John Lyons
On the footpath
in the garden yesterday
a butterfly settled
its wings raised
so that only
the dark underside showed
At first I had mistaken it
for a leaf
but though there was
a gentle breeze
the butterfly did not move
not even the slightest tremor :
it stood its ground
for ten minutes or more
and I wondered whether
this was not an extravagance
to idle away
such a stretch of time
given the brevity
of its life
But there perhaps
was the lesson it was
unwittingly there
to deliver to me
and to you dear reader
without a care in the world
John Lyons
“For the intermittences of the heart are closely linked to the troubles of memory. Without doubt, it is the existence of our body, to us akin to a jar in which our spiritual nature is enclosed, that leads us to suppose that all our inner wealth, our past joys, all our sorrows, are perpetually in our possession.” (translation by John Lyons)
A thought for the day, taken from Marcel Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu. Proust’s monumental exercise in voluntary memory, in which he seeks to reclaim the narrative of his past life. The work is permeated with episodes of involuntary memory, some ecstatically joyful, others full of the pain of loss and lost love.
Disjecta Membra
What are our memories
but living thoughts
and feelings
our minds a ragbag
of experiences
of hopes and dashed
expectations
of moments of tenderness
set against the shifting veil
of darkness and light
and that never-ending tussle
between precision
perfection
and sheer chaos
John Lyons
There is unity
and there is particularity
a universe put together
from a handful of building blocks
There is the sky and the sea
and swallows come and go
filling our latitude with
their grace and beauty
without ever overstaying
their welcome
And she who sings in the dark
whose voice is heard in my soul
whose unembittered gestures trace
patterns of affection in my life
a summer without end
a body drawn from the dust of stars
whole and intemperate in her passion
the sound of love present
in every articulation
she strides daily into my life
John Lyons
What is striking
are the bare spaces
the bare sky the bare streets
the bare park hidden behind
the thick summer foliage
These are times
of tenderness and grief
times in which to care
scrupulously
for the body
and let the devil
take the soul
Company that is comfort
has given way to avoidance
and now more than ever
distance separates us
and love’s versatile touch
is so out of reach
Yours was a name
I once loved
but in that name
a space has grown
larger than any
I have ever known
it tells me that though
you are still here
you are long gone
long gone
John Lyons
Lying in the dust
the pure white petals
of the magnolia
are tossed
this way and that
as they catch the breeze
The tree
with its naked branches
stands forlorn :
its blooms were ahead
of their time and now
their time has passed
Life has its debris
and beauty its span
perhaps love too
but come spring
the magnolia
will bloom again—
as for love tell me please
when will love return ?
John Lyons
There should be a straight line
between you and me
but that is not the case—
between us lies the ocean and land
with mountains and deep valleys
and cascades of water that pour
into streams and rivers
and there are vast plains
and semi-deserts
and all manner of obstacles
are strewn across our paths
yours to me and mine to you
A body is to be cradled
in the body of another
under the starlight
that invades the earth
at midnight – the moon hour
when the forest leaves
turn to silver and chill winds
rattle the bones
of dying trees
Here we lie naked
innocent nimble names
noted in love’s ledger
a legend still moist
with aching breath
determined never to die
John Lyons
When the wind shifts
to the north I shudder
the scene is one
of endless green
a beauty bathed
in sunlight
that filters through
the shadow of trees
People are walking
their dogs but the dogs
long to be released
from their leads
long to romp
in the long grass
A man throws a ball
and his dog leaps
into the air
catches it before
it hits the ground
I watch them play
but when the wind shifts
to the north I shudder
John Lyons
The world that I see
from my window
consists of a hill
a stretch of woodland
and a pale blue sky
there’s an uneven line
of trees on the horizon
and whenever I look
outwards I see birds
of every description
yesterday a chaffinch
with its rusty red underbelly
added a little colour
to my life when it perched
on the garden fence
I noticed its electric eyes
alert to the slightest movement
that could spell danger
and yet serenely confident
in its ability to survive
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 