Monthly Archives: October 2009

31. oct.0z9


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may all who journey remember

tonight the new year begins. tonight the old fades and yet not quite disappears. we mark this night with memory and renewal. all beings make the journey dark to light, light to dark. all beings live and pass away. all beings know sorrow, know joy. all with varying degree of fear. tonight we will be fearless remembering our dead, those who are now gone from us, as well as hopes and dreams, gone lost out grown out dated. we will without fear look at what truly was and then what truly is. only through that courage may we come to peace with our ghosts and haunting. only through our courage to be honest will we find a way of peace for ourselves. and so we make the offerings, our smoke our fruits apple pomegranate, seeds and skins pips and blood. so we say go forth spirits you are honoured your are loved you are forgiven and there are no chains, no deeds left to be worried or done or undone, be free spirit – visit when you wish not because youre chained. light the candles but fear not the dark. all ghosts are hungry but your heart is big enough to feed and sooth them. your heart is strong enough to be soft un concerned with righteousness, justice, right or wrong.

and this is the night this is the night we say to them come feed drink rest we will not betray you.

and this is the night we mark the veil between the worlds we live in, this road between worlds we journey.

and when the moments right we’ll know and rising up from peaceful space bid adieu and journey out for tonight is the night we mark the living and all that may or may not be. this is the night we have the courage to look at what is and say we do not know we do not need we do not want and oh how yes that anything can happen perhaps dressed up in outlandish costumes we spin and dance and kick as high as we can our feet as if the stars and moon truly were the sidewalks of our trick or treating life.

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gets the urge for going

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31.oct.0z9


The Night Mares

 

Restless

In a still night

No moon softening

Sharp stars

No cloud drapery.

Against this midnight

The night mares move

Sharing colour with the darkness.

What cannot find them is found by them,

There are no ways secret:

Spiralling stars leave every sky familiar,

Foraging herds by trails of green weeds

Breach every underwater sanctuary.

The night mares

Sleep standing up;

Contain any stallion,

Give birth in the middle of any weather,

Can knock bones, eyes, or internal organs out of any creature.

Simply by their passing

Men have been sucked breathless.

The night mares

Know where dragons come from,

And who, mothered by seas and singing desert sands,

The twin birthed are.

In languages that the thunder knows,

They answer one another.

Navigating easily unbridled,

No boundary deludes them.

Yielding, the only response they know.
The Great God Pan Is Dead

 

Within the pages of illusion,

Before the glass of no reflection,

The sensuous form of her adoration,

(White on blonde)

Rises to the occasion of the

Mysterious relation between,

The pale worship of a

Vanishing god and the blue

Whispers of her blood.

As fevered as silk in cedar,

Fanatical as dew dipped spider webs;

She’s come and gone.

Her absence heavy in the spicy

Dust of death, where her foot steps

Spell out the haunting word –.

Amen

happy hlloween

happy halloween

29.oct.0z9 True Witch


true witch

true witch

She made her way through the balmy autumn evening. She was checking the store front windows for a sign. It was around her somewhere. Ah here we are. The new age Wicca and pagan emporium. Sounds like it would be the place she thought.

Meanwhile inside the ladies were gathering for their weekly meet. Tonight of course was the big one as it was Halloween night or samhain. They were all done up in their finest. Gowns and skirts of various autumnal hues, tingling with bells or sparkling with glitter. Daggers polished bright and wands of crystals amethyst quartz gathering at the circle out behind the shop in the small high walled courtyard.

All at once they grew silent as the jangle of the store shop door bells let them know someone else had entered. Someone else had come.

But we are all here

Who could it be?

I thought I locked the door

Maybe some last minute shoppers?

Let’s go see…

Oh my god, I mean goddess cried one.

What are you playing at said the shop owner?

You’ve got some nerve to come here to night.

Aren’t you a little old for trick or treat.

Well said the old woman sorry to be a bit late but I had a time finding the place. I just couldn’t track it down.

That’s not what we mean.

What then I was told witches were welcome here.

Yes but you’ve got to be

Kidding. Yeah look at you.

Even a wart on the end of your nose.

What said the old one?

Look I don’t know what you’re playing at but you can’t stay here looking like that.

You don’t like the way I look?

No that’s not it of course we think all wiccans should have green faces and warty noses, oh and the pointy hat and black over coat just priceless I suppose you have striped socks and ruby slippers.

Well what’s how I dress got to do with anything. You all don’t look to practical to me if I might be so bold.

We are true wiccans not some stereotypical throw back to Hollywood and trick or treat.

By the way where’s your broom?

Well I left it out side across the door way as is tradition.

Tradition what would you know.

Look we don’t have time for this you had your fun now go away.

You all seem to be rather rude to me not liking my face not liking my clothes

Well what did you expect, go on get out.

I expected some mutual respect. I expected perhaps some wiser tack that to insult those who aren’t like yourselves. I’m not used to such small minded witches…

What would you know of witches you don’t know a thing about the true religion…

Oh whatever it is I know or not, I can tell this is not the place for me.

Good they said now there’s the door. Imagine the nerve, go on good night.

So the old one left the jangling door announced her departure. And all the ladies rushed up, to see that she was gone once and for all. The one locked and double locked the door other peering out the windows between the official merchandise.

They saw sure enough she had a broom. Can you believe it a freaking broom? They saw her pick up the broom which sure enough had lain across the door stoop. And several ladies wet themselves with laughter while other grew quite indignant when they saw the old on walk down the stops and on the sidewalk straddle the broom but no one said a word none moved but all collectively drew and held a deep breath of pure amazement when the old one flew away.

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trick or treat!

26.oct.oz9


does what it says

does what it says

I have noticed even people who claim everything is predestined, and
that we can do nothing to change it, look before they cross the road.
~Stephen Hawking

Never underestimate the value of doing Nothing,
of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and
not bothering. ~Winnie The Pooh

I have noticed even people who claim everything is predestined, and that we can do nothing to change it, look before they cross the road. ~Stephen Hawking Never underestimate the value of doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering. ~Winnie The Pooh

26.oct.oz9 may all who journey


I used to think that primarily our society was created by fear of death and the desire to distract our selves from the inevitable. The more entertainment the less you have to face reality. TV is the drug we should all fear. Ironic that computers are in essence a TV form of entertainment. like TV it begins in a rather enlightened way but as more and more opportunities to exploit its users to make money and set up property rights which is just another way to make money, and also more and more control based on protecting the consumer but which is just another way of controlling the user in order to easier make money – or whatever the coin of power is these days… The stupider and more fearful the users are the easier to make what you want out of them.

may all who journey

may all who journey

So anyway I have re- thought things a bit and I think it is the fear of love that motivates or if not motivates then allows us to avoid reality. If we weren’t afraid of love how many wars would there be? If we weren’t afraid of love how many creatures would we kill for sport or fashion? When we become less afraid of love we love more. Simple. But the more we love including our selves the more we come in contact with what is and this can be frightening, at first. But that is because of what we’ve been taught, not because of who we are. We do not have to be afraid.

If the hunter allowed for the fact that the creatures he hunts could love – then how could he shoot them for fun? How could the bird not love its life as much as the hunter loves his? If the bird did not love its life it would be a suicide wouldn’t it? It would not take care of itself and it’s young. It would not play with its mate in free flight. How arrogant we must make ourselves to believe that other creatures do not love to be alive? And with regards to ourselves how could we allow ourselves to slave away for commercial goods and neglect the time we could spend with our children? Our lovers? Our selves? Our world?

It is the fear of what is that creates suffering. Life is what is and all life seeks to stay alive, that is. To believe that one form is better or more worthy than another that is arrogant or at the very least ignorance. Ignorance is the ignoring of what is. Even death the big fear is based on ignorance. Regardless of what may or may not come next, the fact of death is – for all creatures and nature and even galaxies. If we are able to accept what already is then we do not change what is but how we react to it. No fear of death allows for compassion, for all beings will die, even the one we want to kill for cutting us off in traffic, even the spouse who is a bit of a pest, and remembering what is maybe we can find it easier to be kinder and more patient because we are all in the same boat. We will all lose everything we think is so important. And that will be sad, that will be all alone sad. And it’s ok not to be afraid of sad.

As we allow for love as we allow ourselves freedom from our fears we develop a greater depth of life, or giving of less anger. This can be very nice. We might not be better consumers for it but contrary to what we are being taught humans are not designed to be solely consumers.

As we allow for other creatures to love to want to live we become more respectful. We will still eat and to eat something must die. Even carrots enjoy life. So we must have courage not arrogance. The courage to allow the whole universe equanimity. The whole universe has equal rights to exist to love to exist to die to be sad, to play. If we have courage we create relationship with the universe we do not try to avoid it through delusions of grandeur, dominance and arrogance neither must we feel passive or ignorant allowing others to control our responses to our life. Through that relationship we create genuine experiences and because we are equally in relation with our world and our lives we can relax we can create less fear less neurosis. Accepting all has a love to live we must consciously create our relationship with our food, our family, ourselves, the creatures and planet.

What if you did not negotiate these points with yourself or any one?

~ All creatures love to live

~ My death is a fact

~ Death of all beings is a fact

~ I am responsible for what I ignore

~ I do not have to protect myself with arrogance, anger, violence, ignorance

~ Humans are not born to consume mass quantities of stuff

~ I will not allow my fear to make me hide from what is

~ Fear of what is causes  suffering

~ I will remember life is a wonderful ever changing panoramic carousel and not be ignorant to the fact that trying to hold it still defeats the purpose.

~ I will not barter away what is just to create the illusion of comfort

~ All creatures love

~ fearing what is does not make sense

~ its is worthy of us to mineralize the amount of crazyness and suffering in our world even if by doing so we experience discomfort

25 october oz9


its almost here

its almost here

that most wonderful time of the year

23.0ct.oz9 Pre Post Script


beside those trees

beside those trees

Little Russia/ thanks again to calliope nerve. this was written for my friend jim back in the days of smoke:

Little Russia

No one knows for sure how

Maybe some ice age fluke

Some shamanistic trance gone awry

But some how it is there

Just a few acres wild weeds witnessed by an empty house an

Abandoned sheet metal shop standing where once the white wood slaughter house once stood where layer after layer of thick lead paint could not keep old blood from seeping through

Beside those trees where the road parallels those tracks over that stone grey arch bridging this river tainted now as then by run off from the tannery

just a few acres wedged in by a half circle ridge of glacier rock and sapling hardwoods where wolves though heard are never seen and leave no trace not even in the snow where only smooth soled sets of footprints going in disappear mid filed and like wise sometimes appear mid filed heading out and all through the month of November any remnant of growing thing be it stem or stalk or stick, each night is tipped with a single never freezing liquid drop such are the tears from all those who pass in one direction or the other through what we called Little Russia.

2. When I was a kid at school we had the books

They had all the symbols in them even satanic ones

All the symbols of the world

Old and new.

But one day this man came, he went around to all the class rooms.

He took away all our books.

Even the teachers were mad at this

But they had to give us other books.

New books without all the symbols.

Now they don’t teach you anything,

Just reading comprehension – you read something they give you,

Then you answer a question about what you read

Then you get a degree

Then you forget it.

But I remember we had the books

They had ever symbol in the world even the satanic ones

All the symbols old and new –

Now people don’t know anything.

They don’t know this is an ancient world,

They think it’s only six thousand years but its not.

Its millions and millions.

We had the symbols once but they were taken away.

And I know this, even though people don’t know them anymore,

There would be no world without the symbols.

And I know this, there’s still a place where you can find them,

Beside those trees where the road parallels those tracks over that stone grey arch bridging this river tainted now as then by run off from the tannery

Under the bark of old wood, drifting under pieces of bark and branches

All what people say are just worm marks the symbols of the world old and new made by such worms as those there are in Little Russia.

3. What they don’t teach anymore about photosynthesis in schools?

That each leaf of each tree makes a photograph, an image of what’s around it. This is how there are many worlds at once.

each year when the leaves fall the images are stored inside the tree and when the new leaves appear they do so with all the images taken by all those leaves that came before and then through out the growing season these fresh leaves take additional photographs. The images get stronger and stronger depending on how many photographs of them have been stored. The longer something is there the stronger it becomes – building up substance over the years.

that’s why if you parked a model A here beside this tree and left it there eventually the real car would disintegrate but then be replaced by an image of the car an image created by thirty years of constant photographing by multitudes of leaves. Thus these photos are synthesised into an image so

That long after the original had rotted away

That model A

No mechanic can make run

No grease fills its crank case

No gasoline fills its gas tank

You sat in it made it go up and down up and down

Then ran home shouting

Grandpa! Grandpa! I flew the car! I flew the car!

Beside those trees where the road parallels those tracks over that stone grey arch bridging this river tainted now as then by run off from the tannery.

Didn’t we meet there once?

Weren’t you the one draped in skins?

Smile polished sepia

Black eyes stranded behind silver languages

Mindful of Ukraine choirs before the war

Dear one, dear one, my dear dear dear one

Starlings of tears each familiar voice polished crystal snow

Beside those trees where the road parallels those tracks over that stone grey arch bridging this river tainted now as then by run off from the tannery

( for Jim when he lived in a tent by a river in New Milford ct. – we met while I stopped for a smoke, we shared a few and had a conversation. it was winter and I only had a fiver to give him and a half a pack of Marlboros – he gave me this poem. I tried for years to do it justice. He’d a done it better himself. Anyway the important thing is Jim not the poem – so here you go Jim – this ones for you, and maybe all those who unlike yourself never had a chance with all the symbols of the world.)

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PD Lyons blog for poetry publishing info and new releases is https://pdlyons.wordpress.com/. Lyon’s LULU page is available at http://stores.lulu.com/pdlyons

23.october oz9


Little witches

One little witch

with bright yellow shoes

did a magic spell and then there were two

two little witches

in a white birch tree

did a magic spell & then there were three

3 little witches

at the red kitchen door

did a magic spell and then there were 4

4 little witches

sharpen  silver knives

did a magic spell and then there were 5

5 little witches

on blue broom sticks

did a magic spell and then there were 6

6 little witches

At a quarter past eleven

Did a magic spell and then there were 7

7 little witches

on a green metal gate

did a magic spell and them there were 8

8 little witches

making spider wine

did a magic spell and then there were 9

9 little witches

chasing grumpy ladies and cross face men

did a magic spell and then there were 10

10 little witches

with their little black cats

did a magic spell and next Halloween they’ll all be back!

23 oct oz9/ www.lapwingpoetry.com


so yesterday got an email from Dennis Greig, editor at Lapwing publishers and attached a pdf of the book! finally. and yes very happy. he did a great job and still plans to tidy up a few bits and write an intro maybe. any way he spent a ton of time and effort on it. also thanks to Deirdre Kearney for her efforts.

www.lapwingpoetry.com

heres a rough idea of title page:

Caribu & Sister Stones:

Selected Poems

v

P.D. LYONS

v

SELECTED

BY

DEIRDRE KEARNEY

_____________________________________

last night prepped another squid tomato sauce for today, pretty much the same recipe as last time. hade fresh hake and rice and veg for dinner with a nice glass of shellys white burgundy chardonnay. Morgan went to school tis am dressed as a black cat. Halloween is almost here. they get a week off now a Halloween break. so birthday plans and sleep over plans galore. Morgan was born oct 31. our Halloween treat. would have called here Morgan any way. Morgan macha Bridget, the coolest creature. break now, shelly just brought in a lovely maris pipers new potato & egg salad with black olives, chives, rocket, spring onions, mayo and for me a bit of crushed red  pepper – excellent.  even the cat woke up for it…and soon a black coffee. like right now ahh. and then a walk down by the lake.

the cat

the cat

21.october oz9


thanks again calliope nerve : http://calliopenerve.blogspot.com/

october 21, 2009

The Indian Girl Who

She was the Indian girl, who sat on the bench,

Five foot maybe four n a half.

Walked with a limp, used a stick.

Turquoise sometimes in her hair

Tied with bandannas even in braids.

In the manner of true primitives, we deemed her wise.

Not because of what she said,

Although on those slight occasions of our interacting –

When she spoke we listened.

Not because she was older,

Although she must have been.

But because she was the Indian girl who sat on the bench –

Creatures of the city we did not know sometimes kept her company.

We were high school pot heads.

Come to school from the edge of town,

Tripped some on LSD

(Orange sunshine of the purple haze micro dot window pane mind)

Pan handled spare change for Marlboros, drugs and wine

Bought for us by our friendly neighbourhood winos,

in those days when it was easier to buy drugs than liquor.

Some of us said we blew a joint with her,

That she went to university,

That she was Cherokee or Sioux,

and I wish I’d kissed that red red lipstick right off her mouth

Spoke to her about everything amidst the pillows,

Shiniest midnight hair,

Full moon belly deep water echoes

Laughter all along her precious wilderness –

Cheyenne.

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