Bluebells growing
in the quiet dust
the heavy scent
of ferns rising up
from the forest loam
Birdsong
and at night
a shallow moon
now that the solstice
has passed
Soon the scarlet roses
will come into bloom
and the air will carry
their fragrance
far and wide
Youth is ending
but age is a blessing
and love is the radiance
that fills this earth
with grace and there is
no greater mystery
John Lyons
What we celebrate
is the ability to draw breath
consciously and to utter
words in praise
of the beauty of life
and the dignity of the self
in all that matters
and in which love
is the bedrock
of justice and peace
Though I may twist and turn
in the early hours
asking myself when will it end
I never really want it to stop
I mean the pulse
that drives my blood
to write these words
and to delight in acts
of knowingly being
I’m so much more
than the sum of my particulars
behind which I may be said
on occasions to hide
but the warm vapours
rise from my mouth
as I step out
into this frosty morning
anxious to salute
the first questions of the day
But let me tell you this first :
I am completely allowable and equal
to every act of love
if only you know
where to find me
John Lyons
Some say that he’s no poet
but what do they know
he is succinct and always
to the point
and shadows run freely
through his verse
and the heavens are a backdrop
to the endless mountains
Men and women live
in his lines and he observes
more than a blackbird
will ever see
He hears the strumming
of a poor pale guitar
but he is generous
in his appraisal
because he knows
that things are as they are
and so he gives them a voice
and poetry is the subject
of his poetry
and his life’s summation
the flesh the bone
the dirt the stone
In Margravine
where the squirrels romp
and crows fill the air
with their raucous song
and the tombs sink deeper
into the earth while nature
flourishes all around
and young lovers walks by
without batting an eye
and not so much as a sigh
John Lyons
Of course the universe
is anything but silent
and yet nature
has contrived
on this earth at least
to create spaces and moments
of absolute peace and quiet
places of solitude
in which the mind may graze
on its own feelings
and be thankful for the lack
of intrusion or interference
And the question always arises
why words why the voice
why the web of language
that seems to hold our world
together and without which
we might cease to exist
such as we are : verbal creatures
who build lives around clusters
of utterances some superficial
other binding to the core
in which we tell our truth
and shame the devil we know
and make vows upon which our very lives
our very loves depend
John Lyons
The restless mind
never satisfied
thoughts turning
this way and that
ruminations
on the mysteries of life
on the vagaries of death
the music of the spheres
filling the head
with cryptic melodies
and the glare
of those awkward stars
that create such
interference
and so the befuddled mind
seeks solace
finds it only in moments
when it’s lost in love
John Lyons
Voice of the day
voice of the night
voice of love
speak to me
as the wind drops
and birds take
to the air
as the waters abate
and the full moon rises
through fields of stars
voice of all things
speak to me
John Lyons
Build the day
out of tenderness
a kind word
a generous gesture
all add to the sum
of joy in the world
How words flourish
take root in the heart
can be brighter
than any rose
and bring comfort
under dark stars
John Lyons
Slow decay
of time
and of blood
Racing clouds
that fade below
the horizon
foam of stars
that fills
our winter
nightscape
Words
that others
have used
I use again
Dead voices
that refuse
to lie still :
and love
that passes
from lip
to living lip
now and again
John Lyons
The beauty of things
necessary as the rose
or the eyes of a child
sufficient in their being
in need of no explanation
Every thought every thing
fit for use in the poem
that endows every aspect
with the intensity of life
What is seen and felt
and is expressed
in transcendent
confidential language
Inspiration is breath
that animates
that brings to life
An old man with a stick
beats at the door
and we recognise his face
and value his gesture
John Lyons
Some things never change
same old stars same old moon
same old roses that bloom
in the same old summer days
and the swallows come and go
and the dragonflies too
hovering low over still waters
and in the air there is the scent
of fresh mown grass and it is
as though not a day has passed
not a month not a year since
I was young and romped
on that lawn and climbed
those trees and my dreams
were in a bag I could swing
around my head and it’s
the same old world
and the same old words
and one day I learned about
the truth and another I learned
about love and yet another
about beauty and how the soul
must grow to embrace them all
and live in them until the very end
johnjosephlyons 