Orange flowers, John Lyons (oil on wood)

Finally the fallen leaves
       are turning from copper
to pure gold
       This is the currency
that poets eagerly mine
       each autumn
It’s a subject that appeals
       to their inner Keats
the mellow sadness
       of a year on the way out

Self-deprecating
       Richardson’s Pamela
called herself
       a piece of painted dirt
and so it is
       the cycle in and out
of the earth
       the human comedy
one door closes
       another door opens
and while there is breath
       there is hope
and where there is life
       there is love

Whose hands are those
       painted on the cave walls
men women children
       the whole community ?
The caves are time capsules –
       behind the art is the perception
that creation goes the distance
       and that the thread of life
is eternal and breath alone powers
       the thread of love

John Lyons