Winters past

Back in the day of chilblains
           when all things froze
when my hands
           shook with the cold
The swirl and flicker of snow
           around the street lamps
the softness
           of our footfalls
as we trudged
           through the streets

Back in the days
           of innocence
before experience
           and knowledge blew away
the mystery of life
           the life that lay
before me
           the life that lies
before me
           the life in which
nothing but love
           makes any sense

This is what I struggle
           to say
I the lover I struggle
           to be

John Lyons

The life we build

The life we build
in our memory
never-to-be-forgotten
moments of love
the days that will
stay with us forever
the simplicity
of being together
the hours and days
shared
and the words
laid down
as a record

Love
as we know
is not complex
it goes straight
to the heart
and all things
are less than love

John Lyons

The ocean life for me

Although I love the countryside
           and love the hills and the mountains
I prefer to live my life at sea-level
           down by the shore where the waters
are never still and where it is possible
           to understand that the universe
is sound and light and that
           it is constantly unfolding

and since all the processes of life
           have their origin in the ocean
to meditate upon that mystery
           and to give thanks for the blood
with all its salts that runs
           through my veins and feeds
my undying passion for life
           and empowers my love for you

John Lyons

A trail of white smoke

A trail of white smoke
           from a wood fire
rising slowly
           this Sunday
into the ancient sky

What is age
           I ask
what is time
           and years
in the scale of things
           of ash and oak and beech
that will outlive me
           of prehistoric species
of fern

What of the days
           before flowers
before the gardenia
           before the magnolia ?
what of the days
           before beauty
had fully evolved
           into the rose ?

and as the species evolved
           when was it
that the beauty of love
           was first expressed ?
when did the acts
           of animal instinct
transform into the tenderness
           of human passion ?

John Lyons

That’s life

In those early winter days we would warm
           ourselves before the coal fire
always jostling for the best position
           I would traipse home from school
through the woods and across the fields
           my pockets bulging with sweet chestnuts
which I would balance on the fender
           occasionally turning with the tongs
until they were completely roasted
           The hearth really was the heart
of the home and it drew us together
           I know now that the warmth of those days
and the taste of those chestnuts
           will never return : that’s life

John Lyons

The bones of it

The pitch black sky
           studded with stars
temperature
           dropping away
as a thick frost
           settles
on the grass
           on the parked cars
on the dead
           autumn leaves

tiny pinpricks
           of light create
a map of sorts
           I feel the cold
in my bones
           and a sense
of being lost
           in the immensity
of space
           drifting
carelessly
           through the universe

love alone I know
           will keep me warm
her arms her kiss
           my poetry driven
by the desire
           to immerse myself
in her flesh
           such is my life
these words
           are the bones of it

John Lyons