Under the full moon
down by the Thames
I said to her— Be the voice
of my night
of my day
of my love
Let us share the sunrise
the silent hour at dusk
and together
let us scan the sky
for shooting stars
Let us travel
down to the shore
to hear the sea-sound
to be lulled by
its timeless serenade
John Lyons
This is how the wind shifts
from one moment to another
the result of the tussle
between high and low pressure
and as the wind shifts
so too the day and all
the illusions and disillusions
it brings as part of its baggage
and our thoughts go spinning
and our feelings reeling
as warm and cold fronts clash
under the barometric weight
human eagerness driven by
clear blue skies can so easily
collapse into lethargy and
irrational gloom :
it takes a spark to ignite
our passions and set the stage
for love and romance to unfold
and fill our lives with joy
The silence of things
that have no voice
no means of expression
above and beyond
their physical shape
and characteristics
things so often
in the backdrop
that we barely notice
stones in the road
that only occasionally
cause us to trip
And yet they are
presence and context
where what we talk of
takes place or unfolds
Our fascination
with the moon
and the stars and the sea
with lakes and rivers
all of which are in
perpetual motion
and have deep purpose
and speak volumes to us
on their own terms
in their own language
devoid of syllables
but full of sense
And we speculate constantly
about never-ending things
the chain of life and death
systolic and diastolic and all
that happens in between
Love should be among
those never-ending things
and sometimes it is
but all too often
there comes a sharp speech
a withering conversation
and the voices dry up
and love no longer is
John Lyons
The silence of things
that have no voice
no means of expression
above and beyond
their physical shape
and characteristics
things so often
in the backdrop
that we barely notice
And yet they are
presence and context
where what we talk of
takes place or unfolds
Our fascination
with the stars
and the sea
with lakes and rivers
all of which have motion
and deep purpose
and speak to us
on their own terms
in their own language
devoid of syllables
but full of meaning
And we speculate
constantly about
never-ending things
the chain of life and death
and all that happens
in between
Love should be
a never-ending thing
and sometimes it is
but all too often
there comes a speech
and the conversation
dries up and
it no longer is
John Lyons
“in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes”
The wOrds saD and beauty, the
woRds thORN and desIRe;that si-
lence that is anathemA to musicke, you-
r loVer torn betwEEn a rock and a
hard place;body of love laid snug
to rest;inTemPerate riSe and faLL
of quickSilver.Stay A while and I
will take your baroMetriC press-
ure;a feBrile finGer strays upon y-
our impulse.O lord, lead us into temp-
tation,bEforE it is tOO late.But for
the worDs,beTimes, all is dusT.
18 April 2005
John Lyons
A clear day :
fresh leaves on the trees
have brought the ancient woodland
to life : school has yet to begin
but soon the young
will be making their way
along the path through the woods
to their classes
the youngest will hop and skip
and chatter their innocent
knowledge full of the excitement
and anticipation of what
the day holds
the new meanings
that their activities
will create
Today the air is clear
and this small world
is touched by sunshine
The young have inherited
this part of the world
this spectacle lived previously
by others long gone
And the woodland’s understory
is alive with new growth
holly and dogwood
ivy and nettles
saplings fighting for their share
of the light
John Lyons
A complex of occasions
a life
three score and ten
: to have known love
more than once
and for the memory
to burn as a flame
in the mind
Yesterday in April still
the first white butterfly
of the season
gliding above the debris
in the railway cutting
All things are measures
of other things
some trees now in flower
others with foliage
about to burst forth
Beneath the complexity
the cycles that drive
the natural world
the song of the nightingale
and the manmade beauty
of the Grecian urn
and the web of words
that binds us together
in communities and
in our homes and
in our hearts
and in our beds
John Lyons
The light the air
the dust falling
gently back
into the earth
How detached we’ve become
from the peace of stars
and the cycles
that gave birth
to the very fibres
of our being
How divided the world
split off from the universe
by arrogance and pride
by blind ambition
and by anger and violence
But life is the truth itself
the supple flesh that glows
in the darkness
the warmth of blood
the warmth of affection
the warmth of desire
that hungers only
to serve love
The sun the moon
the stars : these are
neither myth nor metaphor
they are our kith and kin
our brethren ever since
mass first exploded
into energy and created
time
Time time time
with its subtle taste
of eternity
John Lyons
Cosmic ash drifting
through the universe
and that special light in Venice
in which the artists
caught a glimpse of heaven
a composite of glorious colour
every square inch adorned
and the word that survives
: layer upon layer of faith
in the promise of rewards
to come and the art
a bulwark against
falsehood and betrayal
trust and steadfast belief
truth cut into stone
or worked
into precious metal
honesty of the artist
valued for all time
love honoured in all ways
John Lyons
Stillness
silence
love without words
without gestures
pure feeling
pure being
wanting for nothing
complete peace
in the stillness
in the silence
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 