Our frailties
humble flowers
in the meadows
and happiness
an art a skill
that enables us
to live for
another day
To be is better
than not to be
words words words
to fill a theatrical
space in time
to know all
that defies entropy
peace and love
John Lyons
Patterned purple moon
mood from a slice of wood
the once living fibres
caught in colour
so as to project its emotion
its intricate intimacy
circuitously perfected
with life’s stamp
Here it is offering
gift in the moment
of revelation
a pause for thought
a focal point
for feeling
Under today’s drab sky
on the horizon
trees shrouded in mist
a winter blowing
neither hot nor cold
evening will come
a torrid sky
with a purple moon
We will hold hands
perhaps kiss
perhaps make love
put the past behind us
swaddle ourselves
in a shared dream
The stars are there
to be counted
by their very nature
they are all lucky
John Lyons
Love with
the innocence
of age
a table
a candle
a meal
hands joined
a toast
raised
a pleasure
taken
together
John Lyons
As the crow flies
or the hawk
that all-consuming
view of the world
noting the slightest
alteration of detail –
how we map our lives
And our relationships
There is in all of us
a natural hunger
for love
for acceptance
for the pleasure
of being with another
or among others
for the sharing
of full-fleshed
feelings and emotions
John Lyons
One voice
And then another
Lifestories told
In their own words
From their own
Individual
Points of view
To know what another
Feels or means
This is a skill indeed
And to be able to express
Clearly what one feels
And what one means
This too is indeed a skill
One life
And then another
When paths cross
Or paths diverge
Or when two travel
Side by side
Bound by love
John Lyons
In this universe
forged from heat
there is frost
on the garden wall
ice where water
has frozen
here and there
in the gutters
and sometimes love
that blows hot and cold
the ebb and flow of passion
of desire too
and silence
not the absence of words
perhaps more than ever
mulled in the mind
a horde of magpies
on the lawn
Napoleon has landed
and the years
that seem to set
their own pace
one two three
and forever counting
the fox has seen me
walking down the alley
and is beating a retreat
snow has fallen
in parts of the country
Yesterday I shivered
and remembered my age
but shrugged it off
and went on my way
what the naked eye sees
what the naked mind
apprehends
One forgets
how many miles
how many words
how much love
makes a life
John Lyons
It’s in our nature
for the mind to turn
constantly
to the body
In the midst of infinities
we breathe the specifics
of our senses
the actual here and now
that the eye catches
the complex simplicities
all around us
all within us
a sparrow’s wing
a rose petal
a face loved
for its eternal smile
Our constitution is founded
on the pursuit of beauty
which in turn is truth
which in turn
is happiness –
sadness only erupts
when beauty is betrayed
by untruths
Intensity is a virtue
so that we deliver
the essence of ourselves
in the purity of our desire
when one body
turns to another
John Lyons
In love life still retains
The pure waters of its infant eyes
Its mouth is still a flower
Which blooms not knowing how
In love life still retains
The grip of a child’s hands
Its feet strike out from the light
And head off towards the light
In love life retains always
A blithe and renascent heart
Nothing can ever end there
Tomorrow allayed by yesterday
Paul Éluard
(translation by John Lyons)
Chanson
Dans l’amour la vie a encore
L’eau pure de ses yeux d’enfant
Sa bouche est encore une fleur
Qui s’ouvre sans savoir comment
Dans l’amour la vie a encore
Ses mains agrippantes d’enfant
Ses pieds partent de la lumière
Et ils s’en vont vers la lumière
Dans l’amour la vie a toujours
Un cœur léger et renaissant
Rien n’y pourra jamais finir
Demain s’y allège d’hier.
Frail flower of winter
there is a hardy truth
to your solitary beauty
all weathers resisting
a survivor in the midst
of so much decadence
and decay : I salute
your proud courage
surrounded as you are
by the barbed thorn
of blackberry canes
amid dense beds
of nettle that thrive
in this godforsaken scrub
where no licit love
has ever been known
John Lyons
Amid the frost
and the fog
poetry –
a warmth of words
insight into
our aching souls
that long for beauty
for colour
for the touch
of a loving hand
or of lips
and a light
in another’s eyes
that shines
just
for us
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 