The essential poem

The essential poem

The essential poem
           one that relates
the clouds and the trees
           to an earth that would
otherwise be barren
           the words that enter
into the very dynamics
           of what it is to exist
and to be breathingly alive
           attuned to the beauties
of light that plays
           on the calm sea surface
or the breeze that ruffles
           the leaves of the forest

words that make sense
           words that draw colours
together and moves shapes
           into a moving composition
in which the subtle harmonies
           outlast the darkest thunder

the lover chooses words
           out of desire out of hunger
for the opulence of flesh
           upon willing flesh
and a kind of fulfillment
           that makes sense of the horizon
and the movement of planets
           of wheat raised from the soil
that feeds the necessitous soul :
           the essential poem is a song
condensed from loving energies
           informed by lip and finger
a tactile clairvoyance that knows
           from the softness of her breast
that life without love
           is utter desolation

John Lyons

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History

History

To say that we live
           in prehistoric times
is no joke :
           what is history
if not dead time
           a past buried
in a chromatic wilderness
           in which nothing
may be reversed
           nothing achieved ?

A burnt match floating
           in a greasy pool of rainwater
a hair on a pillow case
           now lost beyond extinction
a lost lover who may be held
           in the memory for only so long
before the breath fades
           before the shifting sands
envelop every recollection

Be minimum
           with your words
economic in your actions
           resolve to move forward
to emerge from the tunnel
           into the hurly-burly
of the present
           write a new text of the world
full of warmth and affection :
           the past is a scribble
of fret and fear and fate
           that cannot be absolved

Make your world personal
           exercise the courage
of your convictions
           and adulterate nothing
Hers was a beauty
           that time could not slay
an angel of reality
           on the edge of night
my Morning Star

Be minimum
           I will say no more

John Lyons