I cannot speak your thoughts
        no more than I can read
the mind of the stars
        That fear possessed you
I know this :
        that your courage failed
at the point of decision
        and so you withdrew

I know that in that moment
        whole cities faded out of sight
and certain ardent words were lost
        as you hid your heart from me

We are of the world but
        we cannot fix it unless
we’re prepared to defend
        love’s innocence and carry
our convictions to the grave
        and never betray our kiss

John Lyons

Under the full moon
        down by the Thames
I said to her— Be the voice
        of my night
of my day
        of my love

Let us share the sunrise
        the silent hour at dusk
and together
        let us scan the sky
for shooting stars
        Let us travel
down to the shore
        to hear the sea-sound
to be lulled by
        its timeless serenade

John Lyons

This is how the wind shifts
        from one moment to another
the result of the tussle
        between high and low pressure

and as the wind shifts
        so too the day and all
the illusions and disillusions
        it brings as part of its baggage

and our thoughts go spinning
        and our feelings reeling
as warm and cold fronts clash
        under the barometric weight

human eagerness driven by
        clear blue skies can so easily
collapse into lethargy and
        irrational gloom :

it takes a spark to ignite
        our passions and set the stage
for love and romance to unfold
        and fill our lives with joy

The silence of things
        that have no voice
no means of expression
        above and beyond
their physical shape
        and characteristics
things so often
        in the backdrop
that we barely notice
        stones in the road
that only occasionally
        cause us to trip

And yet they are
        presence and context
where what we talk of
        takes place or unfolds

Our fascination
        with the moon
and the stars and the sea
        with lakes and rivers
all of which are in
        perpetual motion
and have deep purpose
        and speak volumes to us
on their own terms
        in their own language
devoid of syllables
        but full of sense

And we speculate constantly
        about never-ending things
the chain of life and death
        systolic and diastolic and all
that happens in between

Love should be among
        those never-ending things
and sometimes it is
        but all too often
there comes a sharp speech
        a withering conversation
and the voices dry up
        and love no longer is

John Lyons

The silence of things
        that have no voice
no means of expression
        above and beyond
their physical shape
        and characteristics
things so often
        in the backdrop
that we barely notice

And yet they are
        presence and context
where what we talk of
        takes place or unfolds

Our fascination
        with the stars
and the sea
        with lakes and rivers
all of which have motion
        and deep purpose
and speak to us
        on their own terms
in their own language
        devoid of syllables
but full of meaning

And we speculate
        constantly about
never-ending things
        the chain of life and death
and all that happens
        in between

Love should be
        a never-ending thing
and sometimes it is
        but all too often
there comes a speech
        and the conversation
dries up and
        it no longer is

John Lyons

A clear day :
        fresh leaves on the trees
have brought the ancient woodland
        to life : school has yet to begin
but soon the young
        will be making their way
along the path through the woods
        to their classes

the youngest will hop and skip
        and chatter their innocent
knowledge full of the excitement
        and anticipation of what
the day holds
        the new meanings
that their activities
        will create

Today the air is clear
        and this small world
is touched by sunshine
        The young have inherited
this part of the world
        this spectacle lived previously
by others long gone

And the woodland’s understory
        is alive with new growth
holly and dogwood
        ivy and nettles
saplings fighting for their share
        of the light

John Lyons

From seed to flower
        to fruit to flesh
to love and to love’s
        heartless betrayal

Here at the water’s edge
        the hand drops
petals of memory
        where the grey river flows
swollen by recent rains

Time and time again
        remembered
woven into the faded
        opulence of our dreams

White-winged gulls
        were our chorus
wheeling above us
        riding the wind’s wild waves
filling the crisp air
        with their raucous cries
in the secular light

For a brief spell
        unfettered feelings
and paged perfections
        perishable beauty
fleetingly held
        in the palm of the hand

Then
        a seismic shift
Words hewn from silence
        the silhouette of a lone tree
standing in the midst
        of a denuded field
baked beneath the sun
        shaken by the vortex of dust
that rises up
        from the land

Here the hawk feeds
        the eagle too
and at night
        owls prowl the fields
so that the ungodly earth
        knows no rest

John Lyons

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