Shirley: Back Story As Told To Bella, part one by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

IMG_20160412_234800

10 daysmaybe a few weeks   after my capture? housed with the other prisoners from various units. not many of us 12? 15?  my luck had held. our captors did not know I was not the young boy they thought me.

it was not pleasant but nothing torturous. we were fed crap food, slept on hard earth floor, not many blankets n such. we might have been shoved on occasion, but mostly they mocked us, jeered us in broken language

So now observers have you enjoyed your trip?

Did you see what you wanted?

Don’t worry we still have sights for you don’t we …

and they would laugh.

eventually the tempo seemed to increase, the shoves turned to occasional slaps or spitting or tripping or a kick. I was lucky enough to be nimble but was more uncomfortable with the rough seduction attention paid to me –

beautiful boy…

View original post 354 more words

Off The Book Shelf – Stay Safe Brave Soul


DSC_1907

pdlyons

So here’s something I have been meaning to do for some time now. not a big deal except for me to follow through sometimes takes a while. Any way I come from a book-aholic family. My parents both avid readers. My Mom and dad also collected and sold out of print books back in the days before personal computers. He would be sent lists from books shops dealers and at times universities and libraries – searching for particular items. He wold send a post card quote and maybe make a sale. We spent many a weekends going to estate sales, tag sales, second-hand shops etc. Finding things for resale and curious pieces i would sometimes argue with him over – like Henry miller first editions or Gertrude Stein, etc.  (and whatever happened to that Jerusalem Bible illustrated by Dali?) Some of those books are still on my shelves some alas are not. Anyway Shelly and I have continued the reading and collecting but alas not the re-sale. Morgan too is an avid reader and hoarder of books. So every once in a while there is no choice but to part with somethings … So the thing I meant to say is that starting today I’m doing an off the book shelf blog post. Because so many things come through and because we haunt second-hand shops there are many books we acquire with inscriptions and I’m thinking i would like to document and save them and share them regardless of keeping the books or not.

The first is from the book; Endurance, an epic of polar adventure by F.A.Worsley Captain of HMS Endurance. published by WW Norton & Company, NY. 2000. The inscription is to Capt. Beckley and signed by Summer. I  particularly find “Stay Safe Brave Soul…” rather touching. We would have picked this up in the states, probably in Litchfield Ct. area. Maybe the church on the green basement book shop? Maybe you know Captain Beckley? Maybe you know Summer? Maybe there is a story – Stay Safe Brave Soul.

pdlyons pix

pdlyons pix

 

pdlyons

pdlyons

Amarillo as published by Literariedad December 2016


 

Amarillo 

like that street
wandered down street
no siesta noon
shadowed woman leans
black iron filigree not quite a balcony
lace the colour of some-place else
drawn as if a breeze
pecan smooth her face

what would the story be?
choose that place you should not go
walnut doors second floor
barefoot invitation
whisper of late grapes
hint of something strong
dull embroidered armchair
unlaced boots
dusted finger prints
smooth as kisses table
folded towels
uncertain colour
enameled basin
clear glass tumblers
lemons sliced in water
sunlight striping something velvet on the bed

https://literariedad.co/tag/edicion-de-diciembre-de-2016/

Literariedad es una revista electrónica nacida en Pereira, Colombia, en mayo de 2013. Asume la literatura, la poesía, el cine y el teatro como calles, lugares de encuentro y desencuentro. Inspirada en la idea que suscitó Jaime Sabines: “No soy un poeta, soy un peatón”, y en la obsesión que llevó a Robert Walser a morir en la nieve, busca difundir la crítica, la ficción, la poesía (y el pensamiento en torno a la misma) sin ninguna razón más que la de existir como todas las cosas: por un impulso ciego y desbocado.

Literariedad is an electronic magazine born in Pereira, Colombia in May of 2013. Literariedad presumes that literature, poetry, film, and theatre are like streets, places to be found and lost once again. Inspired by a quote by Jaime Sabines, “I’m not a poet, I’m a pedestrian,” and the obsession that carried Robert Walser to die in the snow, this magazine seeks to spread criticism, fiction, poetry (and thoughts on poetry) without any other motive than that which drives all art: a blind and uncontrollable impulse.

 

Puede enviar sus textos para ser evaluados por nuestro Comité Editorial a la siguiente dirección de correo electrónico: editorial@literariedad.co.

For submissions in English, you can send your pieces to the following email address: englishsubmissions@literariedad.co.

Notice All the Silence That You’ve Left Behind, by pd lyons


Notice All the Silence That You’ve Left Behind

No matter how hard I wait
the rain doesn’t stop any sooner
no matter if I focus on streaming glass
or distant green as it meets the still bare tree line
no not even if I stare at the little pile of shit the neighbour’s dog left slowly steadily dissolving in the gravel

Couldn’t I just stand here all day?
Instead, get dressed
yoga later or not at all

There is a softness allowed by the absence of anxiety
a nonchalant free from worry over what to do
when after all there’s nothing –
Things will remind me, no matter what I choose

and tears a lot like rain seem never to stop
until they do and then they don’t again

~~~~~~~~~~

I go out, with the basket for wood
feed the fire started in the dark morning hours
ash and blackthorn limbs

and like the rain
and like the tears
that fire keeps my eyes busy
for a while

until some distraction
like my bladder
like my stomach
or the postman with some useless package
unable to fit the inadequate mail slot of my front door

moves me
onward

 

DSC_4142

I am dead already by pd lyons


red glass bowl w/ holland tomatoes on a black slate

red glass bowl w/ Holland tomatoes on a black slate on a green table

I am dead already

~ So

there is nothing really to worry about

~ Although sometimes i still forget

think of myself as living

things to do

places to go

achievement’s to achieve

people to please and all

eventually i come around

focus by saying

” you don’t have to”

usually that’s enough to brig me back to what is

~ Other times,

especially if i have forgotten for maybe days,

years, occasionally decades

it takes stuff a little stronger not much though, you know

just say out loud to my so called self;

“you are already dead “

 helps me relax

brigs me round to that expansive place of what is

a pleasant space of truth

red bowl glass

red bowl glass

Two poems and three songs for my Father Donald R Lyons Nov 21. 1925 – Jan 26, 2003.


DAD

The swans out in the field

Their secrets not revealed

Passing into silent flight are they

Perhaps their subtle sigh

Stifles some deeper cry

As they know you’ll be leaving much too soon

 

Walking down the lane

The filly foals refrain

Their running is the sound of falling rain

Are they restless from the summer?

Or somehow do they know

You’ll not stay to seen them fully grown

 

By the fairy mounds of old

The pock marked GPO

Cross the Boyne to bang your head on spiral stone

See the wonders down at Fore

And the ancient seat of kings on Tara hill

 

Now sitting by the fire, music’s playing’ low

Guess I’ll raise a glass or two before I go

Though it’s to an empty chair not your smiling face I stare

(Yet) whenever that door slams I still hope to see you there.

 

And sitting here I wonder

All those stories finally told

Revealed how in our youth

We were so very much the same

Was it drink that made us bold?

Or did we speak so true

Because somehow, we knew

You’d not be coming back this way again?

 

Somewhere Still

Somewhere there is still a place, you sitting in the sun, concrete porch paving slabs, Cape Cod Grey picnic table, small summer savages running jumping clinging – immune bare feet impervious to sun. Skin frosted with salt, lotions, cake icing.

Somewhere children still take your hand, invite you to cross the street walk with them down to the beach, taking them sometimes instead to lunch…

Long-time companions, comforts of old age, afternoon naps, books, TV, mail order catalogues, big band music and too those ever-dangerous memories –  love, marriage, a hole never in twenty-three years has time healed.

Somewhere she still takes you by the hand. Ohs your name laughs into the open window, Fifty-five Chevy, summer bright chrome. So close to flying great American V8 highways up through the Canadian border dwindling into heavy Nova Scotia sands.

There has never been an ocean too cold for her to swim in. Long after your retreat to safety – Flamingo towels, Knickerbocker beer, USMC Zippo, Old Gold cigarette spiral prayers. Gratitude at last. Unable to fathom any reason to feel bad about surviving.

Deep breath wonderful (not a god damn palm tree in sight). Watch that woman of the sea; only wish there would never have to be a time to leave.

Later she gets tipsy; acquiescing when the waiter offers to sweeten her drink no knowing here to sweeten means more liquor. Out on the dance floor, hold each other tight as you want because she’s your wife now and you always liked the Mills Brothers.

Sometime after midnight, small cedar room, Stuart tartan blankets, crisp white sheets. Strange night sounds traipsing gingham curtains. As if tiny fingers, she ohs your name. Answer back with words you never knew before.

This spring by the sea your little house will not find you. Gone now perhaps to wander just like W.B. said –

 Glimmering girl once more beside you and pluck

 Till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

(For: D.R.L. –  with regards to W.B. Yeats, his favourite poet.)

 

Donald Raymond Lyons

Donald Raymond Lyons, 77, of North Shore Blvd., East Sandwich, MA, formerly of Rockledge Dr., Waterbury, passed away peacefully on Sunday, (January 26, 2003) with his family by his side at the Mary F. McCarthy House in Sandwich. He was the husband of the late Flora (Rosano) Lyons. Mr. Lyons was born Nov. 21, 1925 in the Waterville section of Waterbury, son of the late Raymond and Ethel (Pollard) Lyons of Waterville. He graduated from Crosby High School in 1947 and served in the U.S. Marine Corps from 1943 to 1945 during World War II. Mr. Lyons joined the Waterbury Police force in 1953. He was promoted to police sergeant in 1965 and to lieutenant in 1973, retiring in 1984. He loved family gatherings, his books, wine, dancing, lunch dates and his grandchildren. He was a member of B.P.O. Elks Lodge No. 265 and the VFW Mattatuck Post No. 8075. He leaves his devoted family of three sons, Peter D. Lyons of County Cavan, Ireland, Mark J. Lyons of Waterbury, and David M. Lyons of Sagamore, MA; two daughters, Pamela A. Beane of Sandwich, MA and Judy M. Donovan of Plymouth; a loving brother, Raymond “Buddy” Lyons of Waterbury; and 11 grandchildren that adored him. He was predeceased by a sister, Shirley Aparo. The funeral will be held Friday at 8:45 a.m. from the Mulville Funeral Home, 270 West Main St., to St. Francis Xavier Church for a Mass at 9:30 a.m. Burial will be in All Saints Cemetery. Friends may call at the funeral home Thursday from 4-8 p.m. Memorial contributions may be made to the Mary E. McCarthy House, 73 Service Rd., East Sandwich, MA 02537, or to a charity of the donor’s choice. The family wishes to express their sincere appreciation for the love and support given to their father by his longtime companion, Eleanore Bryan of Sandwich, MA.

Published in The Hartford Courant on Jan. 28, 2003

     ////

Pennies from heaven? Why not start now!


Pennies from heaven?

Why not start now? every day or whenever you can throw spare change into a container. Then at the end of the year make a donation to the charity of your liking. Be the change you want to see. Every step in the right direction is never  small. 

HAPPY New YEAR

 

morgan lyons photo pennies from heaven

How the Green Witch Loved the Winter Man as read by the author


Pdlyons's Explorations

One for the winter days. Hope you all like it. Special thanks to Morgan for the video. From the collection of PD Lyons poetry, When You Worship Swans No Longer.

.

When You Worship Swans No Longer: Poetry by

by P D Lyons

Poetry inspired by the village of Fore County Westmeath and surrounding areas of Ireland, by an Irish American poet.

Special First Edition Limited to 150: each numbered and signed by the poet.

Price includes worldwide shipping by regular post in padded envelope.

20.00 dollars US/15 euros Ireland/20 euros rest of Europe/15. sterling

Items shipped upon receipt of order (purchase through Paypal)

Contact: pdlyonspoet@yahoo.co.uk

With your shipping information and any queries.

Additional inscription on request.

(Numbered books selected randomly)

,

Thank you in advance for supporting this project!

View original post

Molly Elizabeth Onyx (2002 – 2017)


Pdlyons's Explorations

I’m sitting here alone in the rain.

Last time I was here, you were with me

the snow had caught the tall green pines

sun glowed their bark red and honey gold

the wind to our faces occasioned by loose flakes of December snow

and we not really minding, picked up our pace

for not other reason than the sheer joy of being able to do so.

today I’m just soaked through

feeling the rain, neither warm nor cold

simply a fact .

maybe when I get up I’ll go the way we used to go

one more time for old times sake

before choosing another way

that only I can take.

If I needed you
Would you come to me
Would you come to me
For to ease my pain
If you needed me
I would come to you
I would swim the seas
For to ease your pain

View original post 338 more words

sometime when i cry, words by pd lyons, photograph by morgan lyons, music by Raveonettes


Pdlyons's Explorations

Sometime  I will surrender all the hard heart life

Sometime I will understand courage has nothing to do with anger

I will remember your face and smile

I will remember your touch and smile

Allowing just the experience of happiness

Allowing just that experience

Surrendering the need to go further

Staying just for the brief soft moment of love

Not needing the hard heat strength to go beyond

View original post

%d bloggers like this: