Provence

mimosa

Provence

The dry dust
           of those summer months
the clink of metal ball
           upon metal ball –
lives played out
           in those quaint village squares
where the mimosa’s faded blooms
           are trodden under foot
where the lovers
           who once lived there
are long gone –
           and where time
clings to time
           for dear life

John Lyons


Version en français

Provence

La poussière sèche
           de ces mois d’été
le tintement de la balle en métal
           sur une balle en métal –
vies jouées
           dans ces pittoresques places de village
où les fleurs fanées du mimosa
           sont foulées par terre
où les amants
           qu’y ont vécu
sont depuis longtemps partis –
           et où le temps
s’accroche au temps
           pour chère vie

The poet’s prayer

The poet’s prayer

Flesh pricked on the briar
           blood of my blood
let the proud rose be rose
           let the sweet nightingale sing
let love be love
           true only to itself –
no simulations no deception
           pure as the night is long
gentle as our days
           are numbered

John Lyons

The shape of silence

The shape of silence

The shape of silence
           the space filled
by your absence –
           by words unsaid
by gestures unmade
           – memories
the only oxygen
           keeping me alive

The shape of silence
           in the world at large
– places walked
           bridges crossed
down by the riverside
           in the shadow
of the Tower
           past Traitor’s Gate
as the river rose
           as the river fell
slipping away silently
           to drown at sea

The shape of silence
           in the night
in the chambers
           of my heart
John Lyons

Sweet stay a while

Sweet stay a while

At dawn I rise
           from my bed of flesh
and re-enter the world
           of words

her flesh is warm
           and soft and comforting
but I must disentangle
           from her arms and stand
to address the day
           that waits at my door

in her eyes
           the clouds of sleep
drift still
           beauty is timeless
though it clings
           to memory

the poetry of peace
           and justice melts
into the heart
           of love

John Lyons

At La Closerie des Lilas

closerie

At La Closerie des Lilas

That evening we spent
           with Ulyana and her friend
talking over a bottle of wine
           while the shades of Cézanne
and Oscar Wilde moved
           among the tables

There where the Surrealists
           once came to blows
with their opponents
           you talked of the politics
dividing the Ukrainians
           of Philadelphia
the egos and the rivalries
           the desire to control

there where back in the day
           Picasso and Modigliani
came calmly to chat
           and Joyce and Beckett
and on occasions
           Gertrude Stein

and Hemingway
           of course
in every bar

But I’d gladly return there
           with you if you would too :
would you ?

 

John Lyons

Eternal return

Eternal return

In the still world
           on a blue morning
I think of you
           I think of your name
I say it under my breath
           It brings you back to me
for a moment your presence
           your love
all synonyms for the joy
           you brought me
how much I loved
           to mouth your name

I read the poetry of love
           Paul Éluard out loud
outbursts of love and light
           and the memory of other births
and a future
           covered in kisses
the impossibility of injustice
           when love chooses love
without flinching
           a straight face
along the narrow path
           that draws you back to me

John Lyons

Easter thoughts

Easter thoughts

All pleasures
all pains
of the heart
celebrate
what is

love in its simplicity
the fourth dimension
to being breath

here for so many years
and never to be taken
for granted

given freely
warmly received
there is no pressure
when it is true
it is what is
in life

it does not pass
with the days
the months
the years
or with death

love is the greatest
of all survivors
it holds faith and hope
in patience
keeps them
close to the heart

no metaphor
could ever do it
justice
it just is what it is

a life
built around love
cannot go wrong

John Lyons

Mere being

Mere being

Is it my body
or my mind
or my soul
or my heart
that loves
you

and

is it in time
or space
in the here
and the now
or does it
extend back and forth
into infinity ?

and if so
what is that ?

did I love you
ever since we were
ions longing to bind
with kindred ions
drifting across the ether
in the afterburn
of creation ?

let there be light
means let there be love
means let there be life
because all things mate
all things cohere
and condense
and reproduce

the palm
at the end
of my arm
with which
I caressed you
the woman
I love

John Lyons

New York vignette, October 1976

staten island ferry

New York vignette, October 1976

I was visiting
           on Staten Island
when Gambino died
           as he watched
the New York Yankees
           his game finally up

Lorraine
           an Italian-American teacher
had a day off school
           to mark his passing

We took the ferry
           past Liberty Island
Stood on deck
           in the bitterly cold wind
Drifted silently
           into Lower Manhattan

Will you stay ?
           she asked
Forever ?
           I replied

John Lyons

True miracle

True miracle

Perhaps darkness
           is the true miracle
in an ever-expanding universe
           full of energy and light
we have the beauty
           of day and of night
of tulips
           that close their petals
when temperatures drop
           We have the pleasure too
of falling asleep
           in a lover’s arms
and of waking to a kiss
           and a brand new day

John Lyons