draped in white your invisible hands , poem and photography by pd lyons


 

 

 

~

went down by the house you used to live in

all the windows had the same curtains

the one where your bedroom was was open

for a moment

draped in white

your invisible hands

wave

~

 

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Once While I Was Away, by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

Once While I Was Away

You might have come
Expecting awkward greeting won by
Philosophic well planned answers to
What you thought my unasked questions were –
Accidental touch
Silent linger hands
Knowing prelude to a kiss
All it would take to un-clench my heart
Inviting you in
So you’d have something to do for the afternoon

paris by pd lyons paris by pd lyons

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I don’t like clever


Pdlyons's Explorations

I don’t like clever, it has no heart.

I tend to go for the empty things, that’s where the meat is.

DSC_5298

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Ogham, an ancient alphabet used to write Old Irish and other Brythonic/Brittonic languages — Fran B. ANAYA (Traductor Literario/Literarischer Übersetzer/Literary Translator/Литературный переводчик)


Ogham (OH-am) is an ancient alphabet used to write Old Irish and other Brythonic/Brittonic languages (such as Pictish, Welsh) from about the 3rd century CE. The Ogham alphabet is sometimes called the ‘Celtic Tree Alphabet’ as each letter is assigned a tree or plant name. However, this was probably done after the initial creation of the Ogham script. After […]

via Ogham, an ancient alphabet used to write Old Irish and other Brythonic/Brittonic languages — Fran B. ANAYA (Traductor Literario/Literarischer Übersetzer/Literary Translator/Литературный переводчик)

Rattlesnake Spells by pd lyons with photos


pdlyons photography

 

Rattlesnake Spells

A blind man on acid
Finger reads the face of god
 
His name
The colour of mirrors still wishing to be ravens

 

mix media by morgan lyons

 

pdlyons photography

Book List 2019 – All quiet on the Western Front by E.M. Remarque


 

 

vintage classics

So this is the first book I’ve read this year. If only we all studied this one maybe the world would be different in a good way? “wars are an orgy of forgetting”  Daša Drndicfrom  the Croatian  writer says in her newest book E.E.G. ( Which is on my definite to read list ).  Much of Remarque’s book is a series of forgetting – what it was like to be school boys, what it was like to fight for glory, what it was like to be human…. But I take it also a step further, this forgetting – its a selective thing. Generation after generation we forget the whole truth and once more take up the gauntlet of heroism, glory, allegiance to the cause, crown and country. For my generation it was Vietnam after which a whole bunch of folks swore to the American people and to the world that there would be no more “Vietnams”. You can google that one to see how long we remembered those lessons.

Remargue does not preach, does play politics, nor does he lower his story to propaganda. Rather it is a plain truth lesson based on his own experiences during the “War to end all wars” Word War 1. Unfortunately it is a lesson still relevant and needing to be learned today and much as it was since its first publication in 1929. I would wager that every veteran of any conflict since would, while maybe not agreeing with me , would definitely be able to relate to what All Quiet On The Western Front has to say about the experiences of men during warfare.

Rather than go one my own tangent I am including excerpts from the work so it might speak for itself. I think Remarque’s words much more poignant and elegant than my own would ever be. The photographs are taken by Morgan Lyons from a 1996 Vintage Classics edition.

 

 

1996 Vintage Classics Edition

 

 

1996 Vintage Classics

Vintage Classics p.69

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erich_Maria_Remarque

During World War I, Remarque was conscripted into the German Army at the age of 18. On 12 June 1917, he was transferred to the Western Front, 2nd Company, Reserves, Field Depot of the 2nd Guards Reserve Division at Hem-Lenglet…..

In 1943, the government arrested his youngest sister, Elfriede Scholz, who had stayed behind in Germany with her husband and two children. After a trial in the “Volksgerichtshof” (Hitler’s extra-constitutional “People’s Court”), she was found guilty of “undermining morale” for stating that she considered the war lost. Court President Roland Freisler declared, “Ihr Bruder ist uns leider entwischt—Sie aber werden uns nicht entwischen” (“Your brother is unfortunately beyond our reach—you, however, will not escape us”). Scholz was beheaded on 16 December 1943, and the cost of her prosecution, imprisonment and execution—495.80 Reichsmark—was charged to her sister Erna.[9]

 

In his spoken introduction to the 1956 CBS Radio Workshop adaptation of his novel Brave New World, Huxley said: “The price of liberty, and even of common humanity, is eternal vigilance.”

riverside waterbury ct

I Cried, by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

I Cried

Came around to tell you about the opera,
See if we could do the matinee,
  the new girl, she’s from Germany,
the new job’s going fine,
So I walked into the house, “Hey Ma, what’s for lunch?”
Because I forgot

I fucking

fucking forgot

.

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Bigger Than the Sky If A Star Was Your Eye, by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

one day my daughter at the age of 7 asks me “What happens when you die Dad? what really happens?” and  so this poem comes from that question.

CSC_6389

Bigger Than the Sky If A Star Was Your Eye

Without sadness there can be no kindness.
Depression while it may be unkind
Is not a kind of sadness.

Someday children will know:
Daddies don’t know everything
Daddies aren’t always there
Daddies cannot protect omnipotent in any way
On top of that neither can mommy.
Not even if we are turned into gods.

Allowing our children to turn us into gods
Should be every parents concern.

I have lived in houses of the dead.
Those who died before my age,
Those who lived to be a hundred a hundred years ago.
Someday these stairs I sweep will still be here
And I will not be anywhere.
Someday all those I ever…

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To me there is a magic which only Christmas brings,


snow by morgan lyons

snow by Morgan Lyons

12.23.85.
Now two days before Christmas snow has stopped not amounting to much and well what can I say that hasn’t already been said about the joys and sorrows aroused by Christmas?

I like Green Sleeves, God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman, Good King Wenceslas, The Holly and the Ivy, and for some reason Barbara Allen strikes me as a Christmas tune. I also like the best cognac I can afford and of course Champagne – very dry and very French. It must be cold for Christmas, it doesn’t matter if it snows but it must be cold so I can wear my big black overcoat and a long red scarf as I take my 1 a.m. Christmas Eve stroll after having watched Alistair Sim as Scrooge on the channel 2 Late Late Late show. The best thing about Christmas though is the melancholia. a thick strong liquor, the true spirit of Christmas brewed from memories of child hood and from witnessing present instances of hope and faith – the faith of children waiting for Santa Claus – knowing he will some how come, the hope of church goers (pious as well as the annual) the simple joy of strangers on a street corner singing songs of comfort and joy with the salvation army band. These are the ingredients of the precious brew that one sips slowly sparingly alone in the cold in the middle of the night. For me my own special garnish is my son who I cannot see on Christmas and my mother (always the source of our childhood Christmas festivities) who has now been dead for this the second Christmas – and yet still there is something, as if Christmas gives me the courage to think of each of them remembering those happier times without depression.

How do I explain? It is the joy we give that lays the foundation for our own faith in our ability to be happy. The presence of hope when hope should not exist, joy in spite of all the compelling reasons for despair – that must be magic. It is the season when one searches out, both in memory and present day to day, these instances of magic. Ones awareness is sharpened so as to better find out and discover these instances of joy and hope. So as to be able to say: See! It is real! It does exist. Here! Here is an example and here look here! Against all odds should be the motto for Christmas. Truly a holiday common sense and the rational are definitely out to lunch. All mundane obligations – rent bills job etc. are finally (if only briefly) put into a proper prospective and totally disregarded in favour of the pursuit of bringing joy to some one else. Even money in all its blood soaked splendour is transformed into an instrument of purity when with it are bought the tokens which give delight, the tokens that symbolize our wish to give happiness to others. It seems that everyone now has this mission – to make other people happy, as if to prove it is possible to do such a thing even in this world.

For me the magic of Christmas is that although I have good reason to be depressed ( my son, my mother, no money, no job, etc.) I know I will find, because of Christmas, a sense of joy, a sense of thank god for Christmas.
When I woke up this morning I swore I wouldn’t write anything about Christmas. I even wrote I had nothing to say about it and now here I am writing a Christmas lecture but perhaps you can forgive me. I don’t mean to tell you how Christmas is and must be for you, this is just a little reminder to myself as how it is for me. Hopefully I’ve spared you from too much of the boring personal details but gave enough for a good outline.
To me there is a magic which only Christmas brings, a sort of reason-less relief from the mun-day- to-dane preoccupations. For others I’m sure they will interpret it in their own terms, perhaps this too is what makes it a special time because each may experience it in a personal way without infringing on another. But no matter, Christmas will, I’m sure have her way and I believe deep down even the most adamant “hum-bugger” will some how be affected by her as she makes her way down the street, cold, alone, sipping slowly on that thick strong brew she loves so well, her eyes alive with the knowledge that she has little to do with any religion and that its useless for mankind to resist her. Christmas is a determined wench, patience unlimited. It doesn’t matter to her how long the seduction takes – she knows whether days months or years the result will be the same – that eventually we all fall under her spell.

more snow by morgan lyons

more snow by Morgan lyons

We have All Touched The World With Little Fingers


Pdlyons's Explorations

here’s the thing –
the people prayed to God;
deliver us from evil,
from oppression,
poverty,
war,
pestilence,
all this misery.

And hearing their prayers
god sent an answer.

But it wasn’t a king,
an army,
a weapon,
a political party,
not even a religion –
but rather God with all the power and the glory

answered  their prayers

with  a  child

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for you all – may you remember

________________________________________________________________________________

with regards to Joseph Campbell

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Campbell

https://www.jcf.org/new/index.php?categoryid=11

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