“in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes”
The wOrds saD and beauty, the
woRds thORN and desIRe;that si-
lence that is anathemA to musicke, you-
r loVer torn betwEEn a rock and a
hard place;body of love laid snug
to rest;inTemPerate riSe and faLL
of quickSilver.Stay A while and I
will take your baroMetriC press-
ure;a feBrile finGer strays upon y-
our impulse.O lord, lead us into temp-
tation,bEforE it is tOO late.But for
the worDs,beTimes, all is dusT.
18 April 2005
John Lyons
Tiny dancer, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)
The living dance
upon dead minds
believe in moon magic
threaten to destroy
the earth with misplaced
enthusiasms and dreams
Time is no refuge
and no doors can
remain bolted forever
Pick up your spoons
and dig into the daily
gruel and accept the cards
you have been dealt
The only splendour
here below is love
but remember it cannot
be put into words nor
can it be photographed
Disdain all those
who would betray it
they are not worth the soil
in which they are buried
John Lyons
The clock strikes Christmas
time beats with an open heart
the moon has climbed
to the top of the stairs
I see it through a window
that peeks out into the future
Somewhere a flower is waking
its perfume will soon spread
as its petals open and so deepen
the earth’s unassailable beauty
In every aspect of every star
of every planet you are loved
my hands – simple as they are
were born to adore you everly
John Lyons
You who in winter sit
behind frosted panes
your breath vanishing
before your eyes
observe that the moon
is no longer beneath
your feet but high
in the dark empty sky
You who in winter sit
sat upon the sadness
of your dreams or
the loss of your love
observe the sun rising
in the east shedding
its warm light across
the cold day
You who in winter sit
waiting for life to appear
recognise that it is never
anywhere other than
within your heart and
yours to administer
like the loyal and faithful
servant tasked with
spreading the good news
John Lyons
A once world
without air
without water
without light
without love
without a ghost
of affection
without a dream
or a song
dayless and
skyless
A once world
incipient
in the cosmos
an expectation
an oceanic silence
without words
without gestures
birth awaiting birth
life awaiting life
a deep darkness
awaiting the star
of Bethlehem
John Lyons
Love thicker than blood
deeper than any sea
freer than any air
an incandescent fire
sky cannot shelter it
nor the moon illuminate
its furthest actions or
its deeper recesses
love longer than time
more encompassing
than any space
more succinct
than any word
No battle can ever
defeat it no betrayal
ever taint it
Love thicker than blood
more compelling
than any kiss
love is what it is
John Lyons
Pity poor flesh
pity poor stars and stones
pity poor world
of war and enmity
pity the lion and the forest
and the schools of children
doomed to a fading life
pity poor love and lip
that struggles to express
the heart’s true desires
seeking solace in the size
of a shoe and bag
and a dress cut to ribbons
Pity poor flesh
in its daily dalliance
with kingdom-come death
and made-to-measure
madness
John Lyons
Last night with the full moon
I felt a tide rise within me
a surge of my old self
I’ll revert to my singularity
and be true and steadfast
in the pursuit of my pursuits
eyes peeled for the hawk
that hovers above
the ploughed fields
my gaze drawn
to the beauty of roses
in full bloom
Kind words I’ll trade
with whoever offers kindness
but I’ll be on my guard
against those shallow souls
with mean pinched faces
who’ve sought
to dupe and betray me with their
whimpering fantasies
: nothing false and possible
is love
which is ours to give
and to keep
as the seasons flick
ever lifewards
From humble heights
true love grows
to become in and of itself
a proud universe
of rapturous speech and gesture
within which lovers
kneel and bless themselves
and give praise
Yes
back to my old self
to the left hand
in sync with the right
balance and equanimity
nothing possible and false
is limitless
love
A creamy disk of light
against the pitch black sky
and the tug of blood
rushing through my veins
urging me to own and to disown
with discernment
I too have lived the learning curve
have timewise stumbled
here and there into bitter failure
: but no more
Cycles of pain and joy
I trust shall soon cede
to the once and for all
and love in my life
shall become
an enduring ecstasy
John Lyons
Revised version
Who but me knows the precise thrill
that rises out of the deeplyness
of your beauty — a beauty steeped
in the tenderness of your gesture
a beauty beyond definition
that tears language apart
that reduces poetry
to a meaningless rubble
of senseless sentiment
It is not that the fabric of your skin
is softer than any silk
though it is that too
nor that your smile floods
whatever space you occupy
with a savage starlust
of almost unbearable brilliance
No
The memory of fields of lavender
of orchards overburdened
with the fragrance
of competing blooms
the wild perfumes that rose up
from a land soothed
by the summer breeze
vineyards swept
by the wayward dusts of Provence
and on the Mediterranean shore
the fine pilgrim sand
that shifts so slowly in time
Those were restless days
and months and years
now long gone
a remnant glimmer that
with undimmed youth
I hold in my eye
a beauty that knows no repose
matched by a sweet desire
that will never die
John Lyons
*The above poem was inspired by the following line,”Who out of deeplyness rose to undeath”, taken from a poem by e.e. cummings, published in 1931 in a collection entitled W [ViVa]. To read the whole of the poem by cummings click here http://plagiarist.com/poetry/3713/.
johnjosephlyons 