Things seen as seen

Things seen as seen
as real as the fox
grown fat during
the summer months

immune to the sin
of pride it strolls
across the lawn
king of the pile

a family raised
all in good health
a secure successful
survivor – what

is not to admire ?
Redemption is there
at the heart of love
in the beauty of the day

John Lyons

The sycamore senses

                      Leaf, John Lyons (acrylic on paper)

The sycamore senses
the lengthening days
knows that a curve
has been passed

Its leaves tightly packed
in the buds are biding
their time ; they are aware
of their purpose in life

Poetry is not an imaginary
world – it’s as real as
those leaves patiently
waiting to burst forth

John Lyons

Think of the earth

Think of the earth
as a body
out of which
all bodies arise

think of the earth
as the life of life
of the origin
of all species

think of the earth
as a space in which
all movements
are defined

the motion of words
as much as sparrows
of angels as much
as the easterly wind

think of the earth
as time and consequence
all rolled into one
in separable existence

think of the earth
as our home from home
as the ultimate
alma mater

think of the earth
of a place to love
and to be loved
or be damned

out of friable soil
the red rose
and the beauty
of poetry

John Lyons

Wisdom asks nothing more

Wisdom asks nothing more
that is to say
there is no want
no pressing need
that is to say
a silence of extraneous

the fox that knows nothing
of its reputation
for stealth and cunning
the rose ignorant
of its beauty or
the nightingale deaf
to its own song

poetry of the day
from sunrise to sunset
of breath and the untiring heart
of love that offers all
but makes no demands
that dwells content
in a realm beyond words
that knows instinctively
when to act and when
to demur and so demurs

John Lyons

The body of love

After a harsh frost
warm sunshine
casts the world
in a fresh light

the southern wind
moves effortlessly
through the trees
that stand expectantly

clusters of birds
disperse and wheel
in all directions
in the pale grey sky

before returning
to settle once again
on the same treetop
to sing to the same tune

And so I say to her
that we are bound
by all our words
by all our actions

bound as one
in the body of love
that separates and then
again comes together

John Lyons

A feast of locusts

A feast of locusts
and wild honey
or fish freshly
pulled from the lake

nothing is lost
nothing ever fails
words that outlive
the memory

the speech of truth
the intelligence
of love the breath
of freedom

the scent of lilacs
fills the transparent air
a table is laid
for guests

a beam of sunlight
through the curtains
the slow descent of dust
fine particles of time

a woman with a cloud
on her shoulder sits
under an old oak
in which blackbirds perch

life is the colour of love
wherever the sun rises
a bravura of the heart
an unending kiss

John Lyons

We are of the sun

Let’s be clear
we are of the sun
and our essence
is to shine

we of the bare day
and of the bare night
are of the sun
in our actions

and when we rest
when we speak or
when we are silent
just as angels

so it is said
are modulations
of stars that have
descended to earth

I in her beauty
saw sunlight
and truth and love
her golden coinage

John Lyons

Times unsung

buff titanium
         Buff titanium, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

Time is distance
and distance is also
unused time

How wasteful of us
to be apart
our hands
our arms
our lips pointless
in this drought
of love

Dreams that have gone
their separate ways
rose petals that unfold
in a wilderness of dust

It was invention
that kept us together
a shared language
of gestures

This coldness
is a failure
of the imagination
this silence
the kiss of death

John Lyons