Informality of the heart
what we call love
that abides by no rules
that does nothing
but simply is
almost instinctual
self-evident
bolder and yet simpler
than the rose
which is given
in token
if there is beauty
in language
it’s because words
are in love
with words
John Lyons
Under the bending dome of day
the gentle movement of leaf and flower
morning awaking to birdsong
and silence and to the play of sunlight
everywhere the thrust of life
and nature at peace with itself
a fox struts along the top
of the perimeter wall its eyes
tracking the flight of a small bird
a dog barks but the fox pays no heed
it sips from an ornamental basin
and slopes off into the rest of its life
John Lyons
The sweetness
of language
that celebrates
the sweetness
of life
hymn ode or epic
poetry is verbal
constellation
the bloodflow
of language
a newborn child
pressed to its
mother’s chest
carried with pride
through the vibrant
streets
boy or girl
the eyes yet to focus
born into words of love
born into the love
of words
poetry that rises
above the prosaic
is revelation
of truth and beauty
is fresh anthem
of the beating heart
John Lyons
Be mindful of love
so that you may see
in the day as well
as in the dark
sight and sound
may be a distraction
so that you may not
see or hear
all that you
necessarily should
how long does it take
to appreciate a rose
without dismissing it
in seconds as a gorgeous
stereotype
how long to see it
in all its glory
in the simplicity
and freshness
of its beauty
and remember
that time takes time
and that these days
will never come again
nor this rose
and unless you
care for it well
nor this love
John Lyons
At the end of the garden
there’s a small patio
where at night
the foxes gather
in the shade
of the green shed
to chew over
the affairs of state
This morning
in the early hours
I was woken
by the commotion
of their shrill voices
engaged in a debate
more strident than I had
ever heard before
To be or not to be
that was the question
whether it was nobler in the mind
to run and hide
or to vote the present
government into the dust
John Lyons
Love that is seen and unseen
witnessed or conducted in private
that is of the mind made flesh
and is known to those who know it
that it is restless and fuelled by desire
and yet finds peace and comfort at every turn
given that it is a state of grace that may be
enveloped in silence or celebrated
with boisterous effervescence because
it is above all things voice and word
and lisp of lips and it is in the eye
and in the ear and it moves the limbs
to embrace even as it heightens the breath
and lightens the burdens of life
John Lyons
Get on the bus
at Putney Bridge
ahead of me
a petite nun
traditional blue habit
in her mid-forties
sits across the aisle from me
mobile phone in her hand
As the bus pulls away
from the station
I hear the strains
of the Ave Maria
and the nun answers
in what I take to be
an Eastern European
language
John Lyons
Where ?
The rose asks
where is the bee
where is the rain
where is the sun
where is the sound
of children’s laughter
of lovers’ whispers
where are beauty
and truth ?
John Lyons
How soon
the rose fades
under the burden
of beauty
John Lyons
What does your day hold
what are you bringing to it
what hopes and dreams
what gestures of love
for all the hours
that will never return
what have you planned
and what are you prepared
to let unfold
in the summer breeze
what respect for others
and for yourself
will guide your actions
and inform your choices ?
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 