Bounty’s return

Balmy summer nights
           when sleep eludes us
we toss and turn
           beneath the stars
praying for the return
           of cooler days
and cooler nights
           wishing the moment away

But these are moments
           sent to test our mettle
what thoughts what feelings
           rule our roost
what fervour drives
           our ambitions
what love keeps us
           alive

Everywhere the roses have faded
           their petals dry and drooping
their season past : dust awaits them
           but in our skies welcome clouds
will soon come and rains will fall
           and turn the land green once more
and restore us
           to our bounty

John Lyons

An ode to air

Air is not emptiness
           even when it is empty
of birds or planes
           or flying leaves
air is everywhere
           full of itself
here angels reside
           and pass among us
unnoticed
           angels of the sun
and moon soundlessly
           sightlessly present
air is breath
           and fresh life
and is there
           in every thought
and act of love
           it is the vehicle
for language
           its medium
and its measure
           and it shapes our world
clinging to the spangled
           topographies
of land and sea
           and life and death

John Lyons

Another lazy lyric

Warm supple
starflesh

soft to my touch
sweet tasting

to my tongue
smooth

to the palms
of my hands

I hold her close
hear the breath

as it rushes
from the lungs

feel the pulse
of her body

against mine
her words

in my ears
I am all of her

she is all of me
we here we now

John Lyons

The nature of things

The nature of things
           as they are : silence
the true interior of the soul
           when all is at peace
when all is said and done
           it is the true nature
of the world
           stripped of the word

the heart beats in perfect harmony
           light builds over the sea
a gorgeous molten plain
           into which the moonlight
dips in the early hours
           while the innocent sleep
within their dreams or clasped
           within the arms of their love

John Lyons

The profound poetry

The sounds drift in
      through the open window
the bustle of the city
      of the street below
all the separate lives
      of men women and children
their passing concerns
      their permanent affections
the energy that they devote
      to living their day
against the backdrop
      of time’s slow burn

and here within my space
      I see candles and flowers
a bed and chairs and table
      all of which are marking
the pace of my existence
      here day and night enter
and with whispers of silence
      soothe the solitude of sense
sleep comes too and with it
      dreams that carry me
to different regions of myself
      and still I wake
to the profound
      poetry of your love

John Lyons

Your guess is as good

Generations of the imagination
           manifest in physical expression
or in the parallel world
           developed intimately in the mind
when time was less of a burden
           figures of speech or drawn
on the surface of rocks
           to provide a narrative
of human consciousness
           the eye the ear
the hand the mouth
           light in the darkness
sound in the silence
           choice and shape
all to create
           the necessary voice

A rose is a syllable
           its beauty caught
in the web of language
           but think of this :
who was it and where
           did a human being
first sit down and speculate
           on the meaning
of the surrounding world
           who was the first to dream
and to project
           and who was it that decided
that the passage of life
           was worth recording
who brought that necessary focus
           to bear on the fine detail
the nuances of emotion
           the dynamics of desire
and all relationships
           and how did the pain
of loneliness
           ever begin to plague the heart
and to what do we owe
           the gift of love ?

John Lyons

The language of creation

From the Big Bang
           the creation of mathematics
one thing after another
           yes and no
on and off
           fusion and fission
a universe seeded
           with galaxies
that live and die
           just like us
that consume energy
           as they light up the void
around them
           that give birth to beauty
the thoughtless rose
           the terrifying tiger
your name and mine
           and words words words
that Shakespeare fashioned
           into the dramas of us all
: the cosmos has a tongue
           and we speak its language
for better or worse
           here and now

John Lyons

Words alone

Although I’m the writer
           I know that sometimes
the words says themselves
           and I have no control
they spill out of me
           with an energy
and a will of their own
           and I read them
subsequently to try
           to understand what
they’re getting at
           and sometimes I succeed
but mostly I fail
           it really is that hit and miss

Other times
           I’m a harvester
I plough through fields
           of words culling
here and there
           a word or phrase
that strikes my fancy
           and some of these words
have pedigree or form
           a rose a tiger a grain of salt
a labyrinth shaped
           by blocks of prose

I remember the blossom
           blowing across the lawns
of my youth
           the fruit that hung heavy
on the branch
           and clear summer nights
seeded with stars
           that never slept

John Lyons