What a difference a day makes

Seen from my window
       a dragonfly and
a cabbage white
       both aimless drifters
in the early autumn sun –
       they know that winter
is coming they sense it
       in their bones
in the state of play
       around them and
there appears to be
       an urgency in their flight
a desire perhaps to make
       the last of the hay
while the sun shines
       the best of it at least

Today is Tuesday
       and as good a day
as any to live it up –
       whatever time means
to these creatures
       there are still only
twenty-four hours in a day
       and the difference
a day makes may be
       between life and death

John Lyons

The poetic vocation

I put my back into it
have done so for years
as long as I can remember
I am a poet by the seat
of my pants a verbal
construction worker
I keep my eyes peeled
my job being to notice
and to say what I see
and to make sense
of my senses

Am I always sure
of where I’m heading ?

No

I feel my way through life
I lay myself open
and I have known
joy and pain and have
learnt to distinguish
one from the other

Sometimes the poetry
is in the detail
a robin a sparrow
and angel on the street corner

sometimes it’s
in the moment
a kiss a birth

On most days I go
for the low hanging fruit
occasionally I excel myself
very occasionally
when I reach for the heights
Every number is a fragment
of infinity and so I live the life –
in my heart there’s always room
for more love
Poetry is for those who have
time on their hands

John Lyons

What lifts the grey day

What lifts the grey day
       out of sadness
is the beauty of thought
       of word or of deed
the beauty that is inherent
       in being or what poets call
beauty’s beauty
       the sheer breath of life
the pure flesh of a face
       that smiles and utters
words of love
       womb-innocent children
whose thirst for knowledge
       is in itself endless adventure

John Lyons

Brief lives

vanessa

Farewell Vanessa atalanta
farewell my admirable
red admiral – beloved mariner
of the summer skies
your brief life lived
on gilded mealy wings

From nettle patch
to wooded nettle patch
your days so brief
have brought such joy

So the lavender
so the wilted lilies
so the intricacies of all
that is dust by dust
shall be reclaimed

Under moonlight
under autumn mists
a final dalliance
and you’ll be gone

Such is the way of the world
within a rose’s memory
what love there is
what love there was
all things must pass

John Lyons

The passing of flowers

dressed

There is no aim
       to clean cut flowers –
to be frank they are
       an unnecessary need
We place them
       upon pedestals
we water them
       with affection
we say we love them
       we admire them
from all angles
       they centre our rooms
and light up the hours
       of our lives that are
themselves mere petals : and
       when their stems droop
and their blooms
       fall apart we mourn
their passing just as
       we mourn the passing
of our loves and all things that
       must necessarily pass

John Lyons

Sweet bird-of-paradise

bird-of-paradise

Bird-of-paradise
       more than meets the eye
stiff erect leathery leaves
       bluish green with perhaps
a red midrib
       held aloft on a long petiole

the orange and blue flowers
       have two erect pointed petals
and five stamens :
       the flower bract is shaped
like a boat
       with green and red borders
—it bears fruit capsules
       containing numerous seeds

An angel masquerading
       as exotic flora
its role is to induce calm
       in the eye of the beholder
so much effortless beauty
       rising out of the earth
its silence announces
       that all will be well and that
wherever it is present
       there will be peace and love

John Lyons

The laurel forests of Madeira

Laurel Forest Madeira

We travelled north
       through the mountains
through the town of São Vicente
       —lush evergreen laurel forest
on either side of the road
       the deep emerald vegetation
obscuring the rough terrain shaped
      by volcanoes long extinct

That day the sun shone
       and the air felt cool and fresh
as we climbed into the hills
       and here and there we saw
tall torrents of mineral water
       cascading perpendicularly
into streams that churned
       in beds lined with pumice

And arriving at the shore in Seixal
       with its tall rugged cliffs
where these thin rivulets plunged
       abruptly over the edge
into the aimless sea I thought
       of time and love and light and
all things that at the end of the day
       spread out into nothing

John Lyons

Love’s resurrection

pochomil

                       Pochomil, Nicaragua

A place of kindness
       of fresh-cut flowers
and rounded gestures
       of deep affection

eyes streaming sunlight
       the words whispered
on her lips brighter
       than any stars

Last night in vain
       the moon sought
to distract me
       from her beauty

A place of silence
       a delta through which
endless passion flows
       into an unmapped sea

Shores I walked with her
       under shade of palm
soft sand underfoot
       and time teeming

breath of poetry
       of instants captured
utterly eternal resurrection
       of love

John Lyons

True colours

gate adjust

         Adjustment, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

These birds too
       know that it’s September
they also have their calendars
       and live from season to season
acting in accordance
       with the earth’s mood

They see the leaves falling
       they see dew on the grass
at first light and they observe
       the behaviour of squirrels
harvesting for the winter ahead
       and they sense
in the silence in the skies
       as summer visitors depart
to warmer climes
       that life will shortly form
a tighter fist
       and that some but not all
will soon struggle to survive –
       they know more than we know

John Lyons


Edited from earlier today