Years amid the frailty of fallen blossom
of winters that have come and gone
dust and ash blown across the universe
a little less pain when love allows
life bled from the earth
breath blown into a new body
the confusions of physical desire
my life in the shape of a soul
and all the time that nagging doubt
that root curiosity that propels me on
summer when spring is dead
autumn when all growth is gone
John Lyons
First rays of the day
stream through the skylight
and with them
the first sounds
as my mind slowly
scrambles for some
semblance of consciousness
A family of pigeons
nests nearby
and this morning
I discover the gift
not of tongues
but of ears
I hear the loose
vocals of a female
belting out
with great gusto
One day I’ll fly away
and in a slightly higher
less perfect pitch
an angelic adolescent
You’re gonna miss me
when I’m gone
and there unmistakable
in the background
a baritone smooth
as you like coos
Can’t get enough
of your love
John Lyons
The trees are weary
see their tired leaves
drooping on this grey morning
already hints of autumn shades
have blighted the green foliage :
it could be an early winter
and yet summer
has barely begun
What’s needed
is a little sunshine
to perk up the chlorophyll
to get the old sap rising
to reinvigorate the landscape
to reignite nature’s love affair
with itself—to put the birds
and the bees back on track
John Lyons
That root curiosity
that drives us on
to know who we are
to know our purpose
and to know our end
self-explorers
and self-doubters
more question
than answer
to know ourselves
let alone another
to see through
the eyes of another
to know how it feels
to be as another
our lives laced with song
fragments of knowledge
picked up along the way
experience eating away
at our innocence
the parade of years
the lilacs that once bloomed
the hands once held
the lips once kissed
pile it on
all the pressure
all the accumulated selves
the days and nights
when we loved
and were yet unloved
the moonstones that burned
through our dreams
all hope against hope
and then a breakthrough
the root of it all
that germinal moment
out of which love rose
fully formed and perfect
the blushing petals
under an adoring sun
Such is the process
that sometimes
though we may not be aware
the words know
what they mean
and will out the truth
John Lyons
When
beauty
lies in
the arms
of the
beholder
John Lyons
Now in the still point
in the soft-petalled silence
the slow rain
falling falling
a blessing
on the parched land
now in the absence
that feeling
of abandonment
now in the pointed stillness
leaves standing up
to the cool wind
acceptance with
a shrug of the shoulders
now in this otherworldly
world
in which words are
of importance
are necessary
in the binding
of body to soul
now amidst the engagement
of stars and fairweather
sentiments
a bleak sense of history
plagues me
a road too often travelled
a cycle
a syndrome
a vortex
an unwarranted
resolution
John Lyons
Among other things
poetry is an act of occupation
a marking out of the territory
with words that establish
distances and times
and within those unlimited boundaries
hopes and dreams and emotions
and thoughts and doubts
what little is known
and much less understood
within the cosmic melee
and if there is a unifying centre
it lies at the point of necessary love
it is an addressing of the world
of people and of words too
such and such a phrase borrowed
from such and such a text
poetry is a will and testament
to life’s texts and textures
her eyes her hair her lips
her sensibility all marked up
the summer’s day of her smile
her openness to the enactments
of untold intimacies—poetry
an occupation
in every sense of the word
John Lyons
Mere memorial
think of this date
of flowers
at your fingertips
of your blue eyes
tinged
with the sad notes
of a violin
how forms descend
find their way
into the ground
your ear cocked
for evidence
the ash of loss
kindnesses
of the word
a smile that lingered
that died on the lip
and your hands
with which you shaped
your undying love
beauty—as the poet said
is what others love in us
love. . . a place of abode
John Lyons
Age has aged
age that once looked forward
through youth to maturity
now looks back
age once full of hope
now hopes for resurrection
a rerun
with a fresh pair of legs
and a new set of wheels
age believes that lessons
have been learnt
and that mistakes
will not be repeated
age trusts that the course
of true love will this time
run smoother
than ever before
age can at times
be a little naïve
it goes with the territory
so age is not too concerned
age says that all that has been
is time and time is eternal
age is a chain of memories
a river and a resurrection
in the mirror age stares
age in the face
inexhaustible tenderness
etched into the lines
age has an answer
to everything
perhaps
maybe. . .
John Lyons
The moon brought low
lies in a pool of rainwater
its surface streaked
with oil and dust
Under darkness
the sad moon
of the misbegotten
is soon forgotten
A moon without stars
sad as a fish out of water :
those who talk of love
know not what they say
The mad moon says
make love not sense
reach for the stars
and bank on your dreams
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 