Ever undiscouraged
resolute
the soul struggles
grapples with the mystery
of all earth’s ages
old and new
eyes and ears
eager
but the soul ever dissatisfied
curious
but unconvinced
the same struggle
the same battle
down the years
leaves of grass
in the searing wind
John Lyons
So Monday morning
I look into the closet
and there it is
hanging there
the last clean shirt
and it’s ironed
and ready to wear
but it’s the last clean shirt
and I have a whole week
ahead of me
It’s a white shirt
and for some reason
I think of Othello and Shakespeare
and wonder if he
was ever in this situation
or Walt Whitman or John Donne
or any of the other metaphysicals
for that matter —not that I would ever
compare myself to any of them
it’s just a thought
but who did wash and iron
their shirts for them ?
and so I watch the short film
by Alfred Leslie with subtitles
written by Frank O’Hara
and I discover that
the last clean shirt
is a metaphor
for ashes to ashes
and dust to dust
and please see that my grave
is kept clean
John Lyons
The palpable substance of life
evident in all things
all that grows and flourishes and dies
all that process of being
the glory of nature
and we part of it
the glory of swift-flowing rivers
and seas and mountains
and the endlessness of life
the throngs of people on the street
seeing them and hearing them
and knowing the ties that exist
between strangers
the common bond shared
the glories with which life
is adorned daily
and not least
the glory of love
John Lyons
How one thing
leads to another
a sequence
a chain of events
bound by conjunction
the loose links
that hold it all together
the turbulence
of the spoken word
from me to you
or you to me
so that a bridge
is a relationship
it delivers a message
a path of conveyance
an enabler and a solution
the removal of an obstacle
a static craft that ferries
the living crowd
I had not thought
that the earth contained
so many. . .
and poetry
the impalpable substance
ideas and sentiments
for generations to come
others will watch
the run of the floodtide
but Walt’s text is there
for all time
a bridge between
now and then
others will see Ellis Island
or the Staten Island ferry
creeping into Gotham City
at night under a winter sky
flakes falling
into the depths below
as you cross
from shore to shore
the current rushing
loose and swollen
by recent rains
the white snow
and the white gulls
their bodies oscillating
in the bitter wind
one word after another
life love sight sound
time for all time
and in the distance
the march of money
that rises skywards
that conquers the air
the swells
in the swollen vaults
that lies sleepless in its bed
gone the white sails
of schooners and sloops
money into steel and glass
and the East River
in its ebb-tide
falling back to the sea
I too am with you
and know how it is
the view of and on
and from and beyond
the bridge
John Lyons
As I sat today in solitude
by the rolling river
my thoughts went floating
on vast and mystic currents
What is Nature but change
in all its visible and still more
its invisible processes ?
Or what is humanity – in its faith
in its love its heroism its poetry
even in its morals –
but emotion ?
Fifty thousand years ago
the constellation of the Great Bear
or Dipper was a starry cross
a hundred thousand years hence
the imaginary Dipper will be upside down
and the stars
which form the bowl and handle
will have changed places
The misty nebulae are moving
and besides are whirling around
in great spirals
some one way some another
Every molecule of matter
in the whole universe
is swinging to and fro
every particle of ether
which fills space
is in jelly-like vibration
Light is one kind of motion
heat another
electricity another
magnetism another
sound another
Every human sense
is the result of motion
every perception every thought
is but motion of the molecules
of the brain translated by
that incomprehensible thing
we call mind
The processes of growth
of existence and of decay
whether in worlds
or in the minutest organisms
are but motion
Adapted from Walt Whitman
We are of the earth
gathered in a mass
subject to the same
first principles
our inner and outer
selves with the same
restlessness of the ever
expanding cosmos
beauty that derives
from sharp definition
so that things are
as they are and not
as they might seem to be
—after all there are
no approximate roses
The world is in our nature
as much as in the badger
or the fox or the lilies in the field
which is to say
we are the necessary
agents of creation
here to use our dexterities
and our imagination
to embellish the soul’s
environment
We are the physiology
of love expressed
in our kisses
and in our tender words
in the portraits we paint
and in the songs with which
we lull the heart
We are waves of energy
turned to good purpose
atoms bound by the bonds
of deep romance
What beauty there is
in her candour
in her smile
in the eagerness of her eyes
what beauty in her posture
and in her poise
in the elegance of her hands
and in the firmness of voice
with which she nominates
the world around her
Honesty emanates
from the soul
and beauty is its own
ornament it requires
no other !
John Lyons
Liberty relies upon itself
invites no one
promises nothing
sits in calmness and light
is positive and composed
and knows no discouragement
It is as the fox
as the nightingale
natural and honest
acute and mellifluous
a law unto itself
the beauty of candour
innocence with a backbone
inviolate in the passage of time
it goes under no disguise
A rose among thorns
its openness wins
the inner and outer world :
deceit and subterfuge
and prevarication
are its enemies
It is the voice and expression
of the poet
stung with compassion
It keeps faith with all
who are enslaved
a taunt to the tyrant
a scourge on the swarms
of cringers and suckers
and the sly lice of politics
John Lyons
