Winter means nothing

Do you know what winter means?
It means nothing  It is neither a cause
for despair nor a cause for hope
Neither is it necessarily a time for love
Winter means nothing  It is a period
when some survive and others do not
a period when the frail the elderly and
the vulnerable sometimes fail to make it
and are buried in the cold damp earth
For others it is a time when raw winds
blow and oblige us to dress warmly
with thick woollens and hats and gloves
and to ensure our homes are well-heated
Apart from that winter means nothing
ships continue to ply the river
the birds that remain do not cease
their singing  Sparrows and bullfinches
will peck at crocuses when they appear
They recognise the signal that winter
will not last forever and that spring
will eventually return  To them winter
means nothing  It really doesn’t

John Lyons


L’hiver ne signifie rien

Savez-vous ce que signifie l’hiver ?
Il ne signifie rien. Ce n’est ni une cause
de désespoir ni une cause d’espoir.
Ce n’est pas non plus nécessairement
une période pour l’amour.
L’hiver ne signifie rien. C’est une période
où certains survivent et d’autres non.
Une période où les fragiles, les personnes âgées
et les vulnérables parfois ne s’en sortent pas
et sont enterrés dans la terre froide et humide.
Les oiseaux qui restent ne cessent pas de chanter.
Les moineaux et les bouvreuils picorent les crocus
lorsqu’ils apparaissent. Ils reconnaissent
le signal que l’hiver ne durera pas éternellement
et que le printemps finira par revenir. Pour eux,
l’hiver ne signifie rien.  Vraiment rien.

John Lyons

Love is all we have

Love these cool
October mornings
when we wake to a world
on the edge of frost
but with the expectation
of sunshine and a blue sky

As I walk in the street
my spent breath dissipates
before my eyes

In the background
I hear the chatter
of sparrows
the cooing of pigeons

This is the story of time
and all our evanescent days
that are bound to vanish
no matter how earnestly
we attempt to seize them

The flow is relentless –
the rivers that run down
to the sea or the bells
that toll for us all
on the tower
of the Conciergerie

The pulse of blood
carries me forward
on a tide of oxygen
I may love you
or leave you
You may love me
or leave me

But time is all we have
for the present

In the dark drift of night

In the dark drift of night
the entire universe realigns
planets and stars and comets
unbeknownst to the lovers
who sleep through their dreams

At daylight standing
by an open window
I see that the hawthorn
has flowered effortlessly

While we slept all things
have grown : the roses
have come into their own
and fresh voices have joined
the dawn chorus

I understand that growth
is depletion in all things
but love – nothing else
matters

John Lyons