Holding station

On a cold crisp morning
           world in sharp relief
silhouette of firs
           against the skyline
a sky plied by jets
           playfully releasing
thin white trails
           of condensation as they go

And play’s the thing
           the absence of aggression
allowing life to flow
           through the veins
giving rein
           to the innocence
that is there
           in our nature

Light brings life
           brings colour
here in this holding station
           where hopes and dreams
are given time
           in which to breathe

John Lyons

Autumn meditation

That mid-October
           autumn glow
a stillness
           in which the clarity
of birdsong is appreciated
           the larders are full
and nature prepared
           to buckle down
for the winter
           no one or no thing
wants to be caught
           out of position
when the storms set in
           what eggs were needed
have been laid
           and soon nests will be abandoned

but the baton has been passed
           to another generation
These days
           there is little talk of peace
little appetite for compromise
           for brotherhood
or protection of the weak
           and the poor
the fit will survive
           but too much of the discourse
is mean-mouthed
           every man jack
I see how the light falls
           how it illuminates one side
casts a shadow over the other
           how the hand moves the mind
how the mind moves the hand
           to words

John Lyons

The flowers

The flowers
pink roses
do not say
that I love you
I say that
I love you

The flowers
are there
in support
of my words

I love you
in words
and in deed

The flowers
have thorns
my words
do not

The flowers
will die
my love
will not

John Lyons

Hibernation

When words
run dry
and harsh winds
blow
I will winter
in the warmth
of your smile

John Lyons

Philosophical

Swirl of dry leaves
in the sharp breeze
—these though once
fresh and green
will soon be dust

I think of all the years
that have fallen
by the wayside
years of my youth

the years of famine
the years of plenty
that have led me
to where I am today

Time is a piece of string
who knows how long :
all I have is what I have
in my hands and who
I have in my heart
I need no more

John Lyons