Seeing into the life of things

Seeing into the life of things

To see into the life of things
           to note the complexities
of their beauty alongside
           their simplicities
To recognise that love
           and gentleness can be
in the midst of the sad
           music of humanity

To lift the soul
           from the dreary discourse
of daily life
           to capture the shooting light
of her eyes when she smiles
           and to hope that there be
no end of speaking
           of the affairs of the heart
and that there be kindness
           at every turn and in every word

John Lyons

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Ficaria verna

lesser celandine

Ficaria verna

Poisonous lesser
      celandine or pilewort
flower of language
      that shrinks
from the cold and rain
      that rises and sets
with the sun
      enjoys neither courage
nor choice being subject
      to sheer necessity
ages through
      one rough day
after another withered
      hairless and hueless
kept alive by the poet’s
      inly-muttered voice

John Lyons

 

A noise in the clouds

A noise in the clouds (revised)

We are not born of a nothing
         but from substantial energies
At night we chase the stars
         in our fleeting dreams
but these scattered constellations
         are far from being figments
of banal fantasy — we too are
         fragments from the Big Bang
there is only one origin after all
         and nothing is lost
in this closed universe
         neither wisdom nor nonsense

On this cold wintry morning
         I see the play of soft light
on the panels of the wooden fence
         at the end of the garden
I see leaves gently ruffled
         by a winnowing wind
and I know that all things
         bear the same imprint
the rocks and stones and trees
         the daffodils in the meadows
that rise up from the banks of the lake

         every aspect perfectly mirrored
just as each star
illuminates its neighbour
         we in our so separate souls
share this common bond
        all being extraterrestrials
and this earth a mere landing craft
         upon which our atoms
have gathered into clusters
         that are an ardent expression
of the energies within :
         we are the light in our eyes
the living word on our own lips
         we are the sense of it all
and for that reason
         love is nothing less than
the revolution of one body
         around another

John Lyons