of the mind
       the cult
of energy
       a rose
       in all its glory
given the attention
       it deserves
the gift of time
       its beauty admired
       each gentle fold
of each petal
       lovingly explored
the fragrant

John Lyons



The beauty of life

The beauty of life

The beauty of life
lies in its fragility

the pleasures
that are fleeting

the fresh petals
on the rose

that will soon fall
and need to be

replaced : and love
that always needs

fresh words
and gestures

to keep it alive
so that no day

is ever the same
no moment

and we live

in the expectation
of renewal

and reaffirmation
never tiring of what

touches the heart
and moves the soul

to joy as though for
the very first time

John Lyons

As I grow older

As I grow older

As I grow older
         I live in fear
of repeating myself
         my ideas
my words
         and my errors
my mistakes :
         time and again
I have taken
         the same path
time and again
         been blind
to the obvious

the rose may live
         as an archetype
but we cannot :
         a rose has nothing
to learn whereas
         we have it all
to work out
         a rose grows
in the light
         we stumble
in the darkness
         and some
and are better learners
         and some never learn
and as I write these words
         I fear yet again that I am
repeating myself
         as I grow older

John Lyons



When a rose is spent
or has completed its bloom

and is beginning to wilt
it should be removed

This is done to keep roses
looking attractive

and it encourages more blooms
Deadheading tricks a rose bush

into focusing on budding
and flowering new roses

rather than expending energy
on dying roses or producing seeds

And remember what Gertrude said
a rose is a rose is a rose

don’t mess with the parameters
things are as they are

and their beauty is intrinsic
don’t mess with roses

and don’t mess with love

John Lyons



People may say
         that beauty is abstract
that it is a concept
         or a notion
a paragon or an ideal
         an archetype
or a quintessence
         a gold standard
by which to measure

But I say no
         I have held beauty
in my arms
         stroked the hair
caressed the flesh
         felt the pulse
of warm blood
         coursing through
her veins
         looked deep
into her eyes
         watched as
a red-rose blush
         spread down
from her cheeks
         over her neck
and across her breast
         a beauty to be culled
time and time again
         and again

John Lyons