Silence
Listen in silence
to the beating
of your heart
to the purr
of your breath
to your hands
as they brush
together
or your thighs
Listen in silence
to the creaking
of the wooden seat
upon which you sit
and in the silence
recall
the last kiss
you gave
the last loving word
you spoke
your last gesture
of generosity
John Lyons
Bring me
the wild flowers that bloomed in my childhood
the daisy and the dandelion :
bring me the thrush and sparrow that sang
the songs of my infancy
Bring me
the fallow fields in which sombre
cattle grazed and where between
cow pats rank with steam we gathered
mushrooms and so breakfasted away
our Sundays
along with eggs and bacon and the juice
of summer ripe tomatoes Bring me those
careless dreams which drifted in on subtle rays
of sunshine— the smell of woodbine and
crushed grass
Bring me those days which turned so soon
to night, those nights which turned
so soon to years— those years that are
the very dust of all our memories
John Lyons
Who will find a way through this silence
to the word to the warm breath
at the centre of this labyrinth of tears
and tribulations ?
Who will count the sparrows with
moving lips or number the budding
flowers on the English rose
as they open to embrace the light ?
There is no destiny other
than that shaped in the words
we act out
in the narratives we carve
from life
Love is an address of the heart
a shifting domicile of tenderness
in which our most precious words
are guarded
a tabernacle of the soul
venerated in our daily gestures
There is one altar
the body upon which
our blood is partnered
skin and bone bound by muscles
that coalesce rhythmically
likewise the passing seasons
that bind us to time
and in which we must learn
to extemporize / to improvise
humbled by the sparrow
by the marigolds that adorn
the fields
Beauty is breath returned
a kiss peppered with passion
a shiver down the spine
a spasm of eternity made flesh
John Lyons
The ebb and flow of the days
within the blind crucible
of endless space where so much
pointless process prevails
the fume of fame
of empty ambition
of energies expended
on the trivia
of a star-glittered existence
Her lips beckon me
she takes me into her arms
I see myself mirrored in her eyes
flesh caresses flesh
soft-whispered words
are exchanged
and the planets are realigned
Wonderment as we explore
the labyrinths of our being
the truths of our breath
the honesty of the passions
folded within our breasts
a belfry of blood
raised in celebration
time breaks over us
beats at the lucid silence
in which we lie shrouded
and all the earth shudders
rocks and stone and trees
are in this moment
meaningless— so too
the mighty river that sweeps
under the bridge
unacknowledged
a prisoner to its own destiny
such is the power
of love’s amaze
that soars above
the old persuasions
my hand in hers
as we scale the skies
John Lyons
As a child
in the woods and parks
the games we played
the endless hours
and such a simple life
hunting for chestnuts
or mushrooms in the early
morning dew :
cycling down to Sevenoaks
cakes for a penny
at the end of the day
the sun on our faces
and never a care
in the world
Up at the crack of dawn
energies unabated
earth to be turned
plants to be lifted
trees to be pruned
tomatoes to be watered
grass to be cut
and never a care
in the world
John Lyons
What dream came with you
what dream lies before you
what words have paved
your path through the years
what promises made
what promises unbroken
what flowers bestowed
and which ones withheld
what questions answered
and which ones remain
Will love live at last
forever and a day
Lives written
not in the stars
but in the intimacy
of the moment
Her hair her lips her eyes
the air displaced by her beauty
her bold stride through the day
the decision within her words
her gestures that dispense
hope and consolation and love
life-affirmative
to the very core
What of the rose ?
The rose withers and dies
its beauty is brief
and it leaves no trace
Others hold the key
to lasting beauty
others the key to truth
She lives in the moment
that transcends the moment
little is left to be desired
other than to be
her companion
John Lyons
She is wise as she is beautiful
a level-headed beauty
to turn men’s heads
and history upon her heels
: disparate fragments
that have accreted to her
though she has learned
above all else
to value focus – But what is it
that she hopes to achieve ?
Yes – all is measure
trochee and spondee
dactyl and anapest
iambus more than any
To be or not ?
Now or not, so to speak ?
Her father laid bricks
one upon another
to cement a life
to construct a clay niche
on the shores of New Jersey
Atlantic County
where the sea sometime rages
and tears at the land
clawing back what was once
its undisputed dominion
A brigantine once set forth
on the ungodly ocean
proud masts and wide sails
to brave the white foam
to flee from the breakers
to transform the treachery
of the storm
into destiny and distance
Measurement
in time and space—
years lived in the shade
of an unwieldy sword
bombarded by fractured starlight
whence they came
to a place of safety
Dignity from fabrics
made to measure
assembled and sewn
with needle and thread
pride in the flotsam jetsam
of flimsy summer dresses
and dances in long braids of hair
the fine colour of quartz
It is enough to live
among ordinary men and women
to aspire to humility
to wear the badge of modesty
and to tread the musical path
measurement being
a sinuous melodic journey
in space and in time
A mind that can contain
the rich proportions of harmony
that can turn inert steel and stone
into warm breath and instil words
with the pulse of eternity—
laws of creation that outflank
the very laws of creation
Who determines
the sparrow’s stature
or whoever dreamed
the soft-fleshed pleats
of the unfolding rose ?
Thoughts that might live forever
words perfectly preserved
within a hoard of words
Love teaches love
love endows the world
with desire and tender possession
and poetry frees us from the banality
of the immoderately mundane
from the downbeat humdrum
of material mummification
Life is a fluted instrument
to be played upon
it begs improvisation
and joyous innovation
it abhors the safety of sainted replication
and fields of dainty daffodils
in the grounds of stately homes
Life opts for the wild side
for the beauteous being
that will not be reproved
She who has a mind of her own
whose body shapes a compendium
of pleasurable emotions
with a soul of intelligence that flies
an independent articulate flag
Death and failure
are all in the mind
: the air trembles at her beauty
that tugs at the core
of all who behold her
Though my words
may seem extravagant
I merely inform a truth—
so much a rarity
in this misbegotten world of confusion
indeed I could go on
and on and on
but today I simply won’t
John Lyons
The humble bluebells are out in force
in the ancient woodlands by Shooters Hill
along with primrose and lesser celandine
wood anemone and yellow rattle and violets
and the delicate umbels of bear garlic
Underfoot the ground is soft
from the covering of leaf litter
and as the sun rises a strong
dank smell hangs in the air
amid the dense shadows
Hazel and beech and alder
and oak laden with acorns
and here and there
how the mighty have fallen
trunks decomposing
the wood damp or dry as dust
covered in mould and fungi
and lichen and overrun by ivy
Here is a hotbed of life and death
teeming with centipede and spider
and all manner of creature
each caught up in its own cycle
now feeding now nutrient
but free – mercifully free –
from the arbitrary hand
of human intervention
Here under the dense canopy
each species has its origin
here all reach for the light
here the very fittest survive
if only a little longer
here all die and are reborn
here is a lesson for us all
John Lyons
Who writes of the unfurling
of fresh green leaves
of cherry blossom
of daffodils and tulips
arrayed in all their glory
writes of the force of life
that runs through nature
and of the elemental energy
that drives our world
through its cycles
of loss and abundance
of growth and decay
of moments won and lost
of hope and all its challenges
the warmth of flesh upon flesh
and the coldness of the boneyard
Process
the joining of dots
the ABC of life
the synthesis of light
the triggers of desire
one body that longs for another
birth and creation
the genesis of words :
in the beginning the word
the coupling of words
the procreation of words
the notation of sentiments
of feelings that demand expression
because we are nothing
without our words
we are empty gestures
unless clothed
in meaningful sounds
our silences – our very silences –
teem with unspoken words
Into the intimacy
of your inner ear
I will pour my words of love – my love –
as I stroke your hair
and I will raise
a monument of affection
to your gentle beauty
that freshly unfolds before me
I will drive my whispered words
deep into your heart
my arms tight around you
and not a single sigh
will escape
my ardent attention
John Lyons
These are the snares of love
the all-knowing eyes
those deep brown pools of light
the lusciously soft red lips
that flicker and curl
with every enticing smile
that quiver and purr with emotion
the tongue darting back and forth
the teeth against which the tongue
dashes time and time again
shaping the sweet sounds of love
the elegant ears that peep
from beneath the flowing strands
of her honeyed hair
the long white neck upon which
her balletic beauty is poised
the voluptuous breasts
the curve of her hips
the sturdy legs upon which
she strides through her world
the cut and thrust of her hands
that punctuate all the passion
she feels : her self
nothing more nothing less
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 