By the river

Where shall we dig in
here by the river
by the Tower
by the Bridge
the land and the tidal river
two worlds
taste the salt in the air
sight smell touch taste
sounds of the river
weaving in and out
of our lives
soul of the city
the gift of silence
of speech
that place where minds meet
where love is voiced
and unvoiced
the verse that gives shape
to it all
sense where sense
makes sense
where night falls
effortlessly
where day rises
in your eyes

John Lyons


Au bord du fleuve

Où est-ce qu’on s’y met
ici, au bord du fleuve,
près de la Tour,
près du Pont,
la terre et le fleuve à marée,
deux mondes,
goûter le sel dans l’air,
voir, sentir, toucher, goûter,
les sons du fleuve
qui s’entremêlent
à nos vies,
l’âme de la ville,
le don du silence,
de la parole,
ce lieu où les esprits
se rencontrent,
où l’amour s’exprime
et se tait, le vers
qui donne forme à tout,
le sens là où le sens
prend tout son sens,
où la nuit tombe sans effort,
où le jour se lève
dans tes yeux

On the night shift

shift
                                                   Universe, John Lyons (30 x 25 cm, oil on canvas)

On the night shift
       my mind is slower
more in tune
       with the stars

Look how long it took
       for the universe
to shape our world
       for the sea to separate
from the land
       for human life
to evolve
       for you and I to meet
to walk hand in hand
       across Tower Bridge

On the night shift
       my breathing is slower
I have been known
       to doze the hours away
to dream that you
       are still there
by my side and that
       time will in time
repair every injury
       to my soul

John Lyons

Occasional verse

Occasional verse

         Downriver
where the gun-metalled waters
flow under Tower Bridge
I stared into her star-kindled eyes
felt love’s blissful palpitation
in the blood

         Crimson fringes
tinged the evening sky
while white gulls whirled above

         Like nothing are the joys
of her lip-lingering kiss
like nothing the saving grace
of her soft breath

         Banished
the mortal lullabies of pain
in this ungainly space
of cruel contraries
and smitten by the blade
of love unmade
I bowed in sweet surrender

John Lyons