Life is of the mind
but what is real
is not the same
as solidity
Is love more real
than the rose
the feeling
more acute
than the thorn ?
No ideas
but in things
though the idea
is a thing
in and of itself
just as the mind
is a location
a place of thought
and feeling
and where love
takes up
residence
John Lyons
Winter has returned
with a vengeance
strong winds and the threat
of ice and snow :
waking at dawn I notice
how quiet the world is
almost as though everyone
has gone away or is in hiding
and that includes the birds
that normally sing their hearts out
at this hour but today are silent
Through the window I see
the sharp profile of houses
dormant in the first light :
if this keeps up
plans for the weekend
will have to be put on hold
the bicycles with their oiled gears
and pumped up tires
will just have to wait
John Lyons
A short walk
down the path
to the front door
where to the left
a climbing rose
has just been planted
and behind it
a new trellis
pinned to the wall
The rose will prosper
its roots will reach
deep into the earth
the mineral truth
of its beauty
will flourish
year on year
and it will be
a thing of joy
The emblematic rose
and the power
of object and images
and the speech of truth
what Wallace called
weekend wisdom
the time devoted
to words and thoughts
and how we carry words
within us
close to our hearts
weekend thoughts and words
and the sad smell of lilacs
displaced
by the rose’s aroma
and how we give
each other our word
and how its truth
lies at the very heart
of language
and how betrayal
of the word
is an arrogant dagger
fatal to desire
John Lyons
I remember the cascade of light
refracted through the droplets of rain
I remember the amber gleam of your eyes
gazing at me from time to time
I remember the love that I saw there
and how our bodies flowed together
effortlessly as we crossed bridges
and strolled along the endless canals
I remember thinking how all things end
but how love if it is true transcends all things
I remember thinking that the beauty
of the Venetian mosaics was like the beauty of life
a narrative painstakingly assembled piece by piece
years in the making never to be undone
John Lyons
How love alters the human face
the radiant smile
and the alertness of the eyes
love hungers for love
and is never satisfied
until love is returned
notice how the whole of the body
is involved in the expression of love
it may be in the posture
the stance of the hips
or the angle at which the head is held
it may be in the hands that gesture
unconsciously to underline the love
it may be in the lips
pursed and as though poised
to give a kiss at a moment’s notice
because it is ever eager to express itself
in the simplest most tender ways
the outward signs of inner feelings
but it’s the face above all
that alters when love is present
the face is often an invitation
and always an announcement
when love is present
John Lyons
As I walk home
a string of ducks
flying overhead
heading south
sunshine
for the first time
in many days
the air feels clean
and fresh
a hint of spring
a reminder
just how good
it is to be alive
John Lyons
To read Muriel Rukeyser’s poem dedicated to Kollwitz, click here.
It’s burlesque
a light show
everything you want to see
before your very eyes
but hidden behind the flourish
of coloured fans
painting is about nudity
revelation
the laying bare
of physical perception
its beauty lies in its truth
how the light unravels
as the knots of the spectrum
are untied and the gown
of discretion slips
to the floor
painters pore
over their canvases
drooling fingertips delighting
in the rough textures
and smooth lines—
it turns them on :
beneath the pigments
the breasts buttocks thighs
and a desire to penetrate
to have knowledge
of the flesh and blood
Tancredi’s composition
is an enticing tease
that no retina can resist
John Lyons
For the picture. . . Or scroll down to 21 February. . . .
The mind
the years
the memories
stirred
out of dust
thought
at the speed
of light
as the synapse
snaps
electrifying
love
where
have I been
all my life
time shared
times shared
though we
cannot agree on
the coordinates
what of the moon
what of Venus
all my days
all my nights
John Lyons
You never know
when a poem might happen
it doesn’t take much
the sun may suddenly appear
through the dull grey of the day
and lift your spirits
above the parapet
ready to take the risk
of being shot down
it may be a text
from the woman you love
which reads simply
I LOVE YOU
out of the blue
just as you were going
about your daily
minding your own
and you think to yourself
someday I’m going
to get that girl
to put it in writing
it’s that simple
blood simple
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 