No surrender

We cannot live in the heart of fright
we are not autumnal creatures

the elements of silence and darkness
of coolness and rejection or of empty promise

should not detain us in the path to light
Hope and faith and love are our guide

The flowers that open under the spring sun
the fruit that hangs heavy on the branch

these are our necessary incentives
Time time time should be abandoned

to its own arbitrary devices—
ours is not the agenda of nameless hours

no darkness nor meaningless despair
can curtail our passions

those fleshed fuses that drive us forward
that transmute the monotone into song

Love foresees beginnings never the end
Love lays out the roses for the bed

in which it lies beneath the moonlight :
love laughs gently in the face of loveless fools

I say again that time is pointless patient words
leaves in the forest that slowly descend

Love is a drawn sword that swashbuckles
laying down its arms only to lie in her arms

John Lyons

The boilerhouse

It’s not just that astrophysics
         has a bearing on our lives
we are astrophysical beings
         through and through
we are the flowers of the universe
         we are life that mutates
into more and more life
         into ever more complex life
into generation after subtle
         generation of life

and love is the building block
         the simplicity beneath the surface
and the sunlight in your eyes
         is neither cliché
nor sentimental schmaltz
         it is literally the light
that comes from the sun

the beautiful bouquet of irises
         that stands on the table
in your home down by the river
         is caught in the iris of your eye
because beauty is self-referential
         self-reverential : the white petals
slowly open to fulfil
         the promise of intimacy
their delicate beauty
         inviting the iris in
deeper and deeper
         the gentle curve
of the soft floral flesh
         that leads you on 
and in to the very heart

John Lyons

Time and the river

Here are the daffodils
         to tell us that the worst
of the winter weather is over
         the river banks are thronged
with families with children
         with couples strolling
hand in hand

Here are the flowers
         to remind us of what life is all about
about joy and love and leisure
         about release from the demands
of work and school
         about taking control of our time

Here there are street entertainers
         singers with their songs
to raise our spirits in case
         they needed lifting
guitars and accordions
         and showmen and women
encouraging the young
         to jump into the unknown
to trust in the bounce below

Here the river flows
         gently through our lives
carrying the shimmering sunlight
         out to sea and along with it
the years of memories
         of fathers before us
of mothers long gone
         time and the river
time and again

John Lyons

Intimacy

Some things are private
         they have no business
in my poems :
         words and phrases
I may use in certain situations
         with a certain person
sometimes in the darkness
         sometimes not
but meant for her ears only

I can talk about her hair
         and her lips and her kisses
and the softness of her skin
         against mine
I can tell of the sparkle
         in her brown eyes
the smile that draws me in
         closer and closer to her heart
I can tell many many things
         I could go on and on and on
about her beauty and the way
         she transforms my day
and my night
         and I am happy
to be open with you
         to share what I am feeling
but some things are private
         some words and phrases
so private and sacrosanct
         and delicious that they are
as I say
         for her ears only

John Lyons

If I say. . .

If I say that it is your eyes
         if I say that it is your lips
if I say that it is your smile
         or your kiss or your words

if I say that it is your hair
         or your cheeks flushed with love
or your breasts or your hands
         or your thighs or your legs

if I say that it is your feet
         that carry you to me
or your arms that hold me
         or your sweet breath
on my face or the warmth
         of your body against mine

Whatever I say I cannot begin
         to describe the truth of your beauty
the sheer power of your presence
         the softness and the tenderness
the energies gathered within you
         the gift that your being represents
not just to those around you
         in your day-to-day or in your work
but to me—so especially to me
         with whom you have chosen to be

John Lyons

Flowers

The bouquet that you brought me
the beautiful tulips and sunflowers

have wilted and collapsed
scattering a fine dusting of pollen

over the table where they stood
: the water in the crystal vase

has turned cloudy
the stems are now nothing more

than a spineless mush
The soft velvet petals

curled and wrinkled with age
have entirely lost their allure

They were a gesture in a moment
for a moment that could not last

and yet in time beyond time
our affections are untouched

and the kiss that they inspired
will outlive the driest dust

John Lyons

The garden

Days of lavender
         a new mown lawn
the bushes trimmed
         the earth turned in the flower beds
the peach tree heavy with fruit
         so too the pear and the bramley :
the centerpiece a bed of roses
         white and red and yellow petals
adoring the sun that made them

He sits on a wooden bench
         smoking a pipe
the smoke curling up
         above his head
: in silence he sits
         and admires his handiwork
A dragonfly darts back and forth
         over the surface of the pond
the constant chirrup of birds
         goes unheard lost as he is
in his thoughts and in his feelings

Where does love begin
         where does it end ?
The nurture of nature too
         is an act of love
a garden made of and with love
         love that is our Eden
our paradise

John Lyons

Dawn chorus

Sometimes
         although we have the words
the words are not enough
          Enough words
but they are not enough
         for all we want to say
to express all we feel
         all we hope for the future
the intensity
         of what we are living
in the moment
         the joy

there is time enough for words
         when words are enough
but for the moment
         they are not

John Lyons

Wake-up call

The west wind has nagged
         through the night
it has howled and whined
         and whipped the rain
into a frenzy
         subsiding now and then
only to return with a vengeance

The ferocious March wind
         that rattles doors
and rocks fences
         that pores over structures
searching for looseness
         for the slightest imperfection
for whatever may be torn
         from its bed and thrown
down to the ground

The bravado of rain and wind
         a rule unto itself
defiant and disdainful
         of all who sleep
a loud mouthy leveller
         it has uttered its call
throughout the dark night
         while the moon stood by
and the earth was unmoved

And yet it means nothing
         it is a process that will pass
a depression that will lift
         and the lovers that it wakes
in the early hours
         listen a while before turning
on their sides and dismissing
         its empty bluster with a kiss

John Lyons