Tangled threads

The nets in which
           we are entangled
the multiple threads
           I look now at the flaking light
at the splintered wood
           at the fallen leaves
ground to a mulch
           and the green fields
that stretch into the distance
           here where children and dogs
run their afternoons away
           when time takes a break

but I feel the tug
           in so many directions
the impertinence of life
           always at my heels
as though I should be
           constantly at its beck and call
have nothing better to do
           than live in its thrall

Rosebuds
           Yes I will gather these
when summer comes
           when swifts and swallows
fill the skies and love
           is there for the taking

John Lyons

The archaeology of love

Today this Sunday
           when rain clouds hover
and the light falls
           greyly upon the world
let us delve into
           the archaeology of their love
let us examine
           with a forensic eye
the smallnesses that led
           to their separation
the petty slights that occasioned
           wounded pride
the insignificant hurts
           felt on both sides
that were simply
           not tended to in time

We need not ask
           whether it was he or she
that loved the most
           for the measure of love
is to love beyond measure
           :  just as the rose
is never more than a rose
           love too either is or it is not

And yet the heart stirs
           is human and prone
to the restless confusions
           of day and night
and the tongue is loose
           and the mind wanders
and there are times
           when even what is right
is wrong and a bruise
           needs to heal and the dust
needs to settle and a pardon
           to be bodily begged

John Lyons

Shad Thames

Elle avait
sans doute
les plus jolis
roberts
du quartier
et un sourire
qui me brisait
le coeur

John Lyons

Light to dust

How the light filters
           down through the leaves
of the tall trees that line
           the railway line
thin wafers of gold at the top
           as oxidation has its way
but still fairly green and moist
           at the base

The sun it would seem
           is both the giver
and the taker of life
           all things grow in it
and it turns all things
           to dust

John Lyons

What might they say ?

What might they say of us :
that our days were numbered

that we counted our steps
in Ramsgate, Hastings Brighton Deal 

and the minutes the hours the days
when love was so precious

and time was no impediment
They’ll say that we took much pleasure

together and saw and heard and shared 
so much side by side that we seemed

necessarily inseparable
until the bitter end