Even in its deepest silence
love is explicit
it shapes a moment
a day
a life
a rose that shapes
the space around it
defining
the morning dew
on the fresh petals
imagine
John Lyons
There is no bitterness in the stars
nor is time the enemy
it’s what we make of it—
and not how we pass it
but how we live it
last night the patter of rain
on the window unexpected
and barely noticed
but today the air is fresh
the garden a lush green
and there’s an all-pervasive
sense of renewal
the natural world has stirred
and something wonderful
is about to happen
it doesn’t take much to change a life
no shower of meteors needed
no earth-shifting cataclysm :
our fate lies in the corpuscles
red and white that course
through our veins
breath drives love
conquers all
John Lyons
Last night a full moon
futile in the dark sky
casting a funnel of dead light
across the face of the earth
there is more beauty in a honeycomb
or in a rose culled from the garden
chains of words
and words that evolve
words spoken on water
or uttered on dry land
and the moon is pointless
my lungs sifting the cold morning air
your breath mingling with mine
our bodies taking what pleasure
there is to be taken
from the moment
beneath our feet in autumn
a carpet of dry leaves
but now the ground is strewn
with cherry blossom
which twists and turns
in the whirling wind
before being laid to rest
chains of words
and the fire that made us
will unmake our bones
will silence our tongues
and make dust of our dreams
misbegotten moon
the rose has more sense
John Lyons
Poetry
is
boxing
with
words
it
should
always
pack
a
punch
never
turn
a
blind
eye
never
let
its
guard
down
keep
shuffling
on
the tip
of
the
toes
finish
off
with
a right
and
a
left
John Lyons
Nothing
to report
today
from the
scene
of myself
John Lyons
Every colour of the rainbow
and the fact that they will fade
is unimportant
their beauty depends
on so many factors
the light and the soil
in which they grew
the evolution of their genes
how a single flower
developed into so many
singular species
and how we evolved
to admire them
and to value their beauty
their long tongue-like leaves
the slender stems
upon which a chalice
of bright petals
is raised in a toast
to creation
John Lyons
If it had snowed
at least once this year
I might have been content
or if it had rained
for forty days and forty nights
that would have been something
to write home about :
instead another election
is upon us and how awful
for them to call it
during the pollen season
how utterly thoughtless
useless these politicians
some of them
I have to say
get right up my nose
worse than pollen
much
John Lyons
Last night at sunset
the dying down of the day
birds singing
to a very different tune
instilling a sense of distance
and silence and peace :
one day at a time
trusting in one’s breath
and in all those things
dear to the heart
the consolation of a fixed
starry firmament
belief in oneself
and in the day to come
John Lyons
I think of the orchids
the solitary lives they live
a beauty that unless
given pride of place
withers unknown
and unloved
I think of time
and the terror its exercises
on those who have everything
to lose and nothing to gain
as it marches on relentlessly
either our lives change
or we change our lives
we take control of the reins
and live according to our choices
and love decisively
for the moment and always
or we allow time to have
the last laugh
which believe me
is not funny
Half the shell of a coconut
hanging by a piece of string
from the window frame
of a room close to the Great Vine
a tiny blue tit appears
out of nowhere
and perches inside
the shell and pecks
at the white flesh
and with each thrust
of its beak the shell spins
round and round
and I just stand and watch
until the bird has had its fill
and flies off into the last
of the gentle April showers
on the last day of the month
and the sun comes out
and it gladdens my heart
and my day is made
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 