A new text

These are the woven moments
         the tapestry of our life
down by the river
         men with their rods
and small buckets of live bait
         sit and talk and while away
the morning
         waiting for the fish to bite
a clear blue sky and the tide
         racing in across the mudflats
Couples stroll hand in hand
         and it is as if nothing matters
the earth is a paradise
         if only we knew
how to put it to good use
         and pears unpicked
will drop in due course
         birds will fall silent
in the warm fields
         and at night the stars
will bring a remembrance

Life is supple and turbulent
         but its blood never fails
it rises and falls with the tides
         the ebb and flow of the hours
and dissipates with our dreams

She is her passion
         she is all of a hush
as she surrenders
         her soul in sacrifice
There is no grief
         no loneliness
no nostalgia
         for forgotten forests

She blooms
         she comes in gusts
the elation in her eyes
         a rose stripped of its thorns
in the throes
         of an inarticulate convulsion
sweet pangs of pleasure
         coursing through her veins

John Lyons

Organicity

From the balcony
         suspended
from the fronds
         of a coconut palm
a spider web
         long filaments
of sunlight
         optic fibers
wired to catch
         living food
a miniature
         giants’ causeway
as seen in Salvador
         or Country Antrim
and again that mystery
         how the earth
transforms iron
         and calcium
magnesium and zinc
         into nutrition
delivered fresh
         on the wing
caught in the tangle
         devoured at leisure

John Lyons

Life support

Cattle graze
         above the rich red clay
the deep green grass
         the long hours of sunlight
the cool waters that run down
         from the moors
the mists and the rain
         hay in the winter
sunlight stored
         rolled into bales

For all the technology
         it is still essentially
a pastoral life
         and whatever we consume
be it grain or meat or fish
         it is life supporting life
supporting love
         supporting life

John Lyons

Happy holidays

Blindingly blue skies
         full-throated birds barely able
to contain themselves
         anxious to get down
to the boisterous business
         of what big boy and girl birds
do when the summer hots up
         —nestle down
into cosy nests
         while the hay shines

On my way to vote for democracy
         – London may once again
have a mayor –
         I pass a shop that sells
reptiles and snakes
         and offers boarding
pure and simple
         not the water sport
favoured by the architects
         of the illegal war in Iraq
—no need to name names
         they know who they are
they sleep with their
         ghastly reflections
every night

No

these kennels
         are the real deal
for newts and spiders
         for lizards and tortoises
scorpions and vipers
         for frogs and bearded dragons
for whatever creeps
          and whatever crawls

John Lyons

Perhaps

Perhaps it will be spring today
perhaps the sky will be blue

and the breeze gentle if at all
Perhaps I’ll see the first butterfly

of the year flitting from flower
to flower or the first bee clinging

to the petals of a bright red rose
Perhaps the sun will raise

a sweat on my forehead
or on my far too pale forearms

now bared to the elements
Perhaps I’ll hear the rowdy

laughter of wild children playing
or the sound of mowers

mowing neighbourly lawns
and maybe in the early afternoon

the familiar tang of badly charred
meat will drift through the balm

and whet my appetite for a life
that just isn’t the same without her

John Lyons