Christmas lights
on the linden trees
and an icy wind blowing
in from Siberia
flakes of snow
curling in the light
of the streetlamps
dusting the pavement
I remember Berlin
how dark it was
how cold and dark it was
when we left the Hotel Adlon
and sauntered up
to the Brandenburg Gate
All those years ago
all that time
all that dust
all that love ago
John Lyons
Snow fell as they tramped
through the empty streets
of Berlin
What was in their hearts
protected them
from the bitter cold
And as they passed hand in hand
beneath the Brandenberg Gate
they felt invincible
Life is often what lies beneath
a landscape in which layers of love
have been laid to rest
John Lyons
The memories
I am bound
to dismantle
of times too good
to be true
of scallops
from Borough Market
in the fluted shells
that the pilgrims wore
Memories of walls
and rivers and boats
and cathedrals
and many a meal
so joyfully shared
At what fence
our love faltered
I’ll never know
like so much
I suppose
I’ll never know
John Lyons
Revised from earlier today
One night last December
we sauntered up
to the Brandenburg Gate
as they were hanging
Christmas lights
on the linden trees
An icy wind
was blowing in
from Siberia
flakes of snow curled
in the streetlamps
and feathered
the pavement
I remember
how dark it was
all that history
all that repression
and now the release
the freedom
couples strolling
arm in arm or hand in hand
pausing to take pictures
or simply to admire
the majestic scene
We strolled into the Hotel Adlon
for champagne
raised our glasses
took a sip of pleasure
together : it was
a happy birthday
John Lyons
Poetry is word time
the running metre
swift of foot
along the streets
of Paris or Berlin
or Venice with its canals
The impertinence of history
the microbes’ biological clock
or doomed stars
as their batteries deplete
: what drives heaven
and hell and every nook
and cranny of creation
Drinking mulled wine
in the Christmas markets
as snow gently falls
through the universe
as it settles upon the living
and the remembered dead
throughout the vales
of northern Europe
and far beyond
Locked into the land
with our earth gaze
ears cocked to capture
a friendly voice
and it comes through
crackling with radio
interference
our bridled thoughts
to be mounted at will
eternity in the saddle
time holding the reins
And love a living thing
palpable flesh
squeezed with delight
as darkness falls
or at dawn
as the cattle egrets
begin their day
and the host herd
shuffles down to the river
to slake their thirst
all in good time
solid word time
cosmic rhyme time
John Lyons
The nameless shadows
untimely laid to rest
in avenues of cold hard stone
cemented into the merciless
grey of winter skies
collective or individual lives
arranged in rigid alleys
that rise and fall underfoot
but not a single angle less
than ninety degrees
no soft circles or tender arcs
or any hint of creative
deviation from that norm
that awaits us all one day
Here no birds perch
and no song is heard
as the memories filter
through and into the dust
these were our cities
these were our streets
this is the place
where we finally rest
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 