Pdlyons's Explorations
riverside, Waterbury Ct.
From The Country Of Stones
me and the small talk angel
find no way to mark the years
not much at all worth mentioning
on corners of dull marble
we lean
without surprise
without concern
without big questions
just slight curiosities
bringing us together
in a penny tossing
park bench
kind of way
from the book Caribu Poetry by pd lyons
riverside, Waterbury Ct.
When we Lived on Nelson Ave.
days when my father took milk and sugar
leaving the spoon in his coffee
my mother whistled among lilacs and roses
mahogany furniture kept well polished
and special knives and forks only used on holidays
I knew the name of Lilly of the valley
not to ever put them in your mouth
there were kittens in the sun porch
we watched born from a tabby cat named Felix
there were cherries from our backyard tree
so red I thought they were black,
tasting like no cherries
ever would again
http://www.bluelotusreview.com/archives/su2010/pdlyons.html
a version of this poem is included in the collection : Caribu – poetry by pd lyons
Sometimes you have to just embarrass yourself and apparently, I’m pretty good at it.
Kisses Which Bare the Open Mouths of Love
She would not know me now
All spidered and soft eyed
There are no horses here
I do not smoke with them
Before the rising sun
We do not track our way through trackless lands
Drink from any random running waters.
No summers here
My own muscles do not perfume
The work day
Attract the stars nocturnal butterflies
& kisses which bare the open mouths of love
from :Rumours of Another Summer, New Work by PD Lyons ISBN 9781 463769284
available amazon books and amazon kindle .99 cents
now on kindle
Look around What do I see?
there aint nuthin here for me
Look around what do I see
There aint nuthin more for me
You preachers of morality
how would you do to live like me
heaven’s just a novelty
another thing they denied to me
so down the streets of ecstasy
I’ll make my way most carelessly
and you can judge it tragedy,
but I wont surrender that easily
Look around What do I see?
there aint nuthin here for me
Look around what do I see
There aint nuthin more for me
So down the streets of ecstasy
I take my chances endlessly
and theres no need for me to run
with my fingers wrapped around a gun
0z9
Looking For Work In Dublin
The same girl sitting on different buses going by over and over I knew if I saw her one more time the rest of the world would completely liquefy and go with her. Wishing to avoid that whirlpool of a thing I knocked back the coffee, paid and left keeping my eyes firmly focused on the sidewalk made my way to Eccles Street. Sidewalk, crosswalk not daring to look up risking my life in the traffic like a blind man saving the world.
In the crumbling doorways tilted columns boarded windows planning permission posters all along the way safe to be looked at on the right side of the street I had no fear of buses as the decaying signs of Eccles street lead me down to the Georgian centre for saving the ruined life of city boys saving ruins among the ruins 90 days repairs a lifetime then out with you maybe meet again in some emergency of violence queued up amidst the hospital flu wishing you weren’t here.
there must be some as yet undiscovered carpet to sweep you under.
On my helter skelter straight way down to the bus station maybe O’Connell street. instead some nameless to me slope of a road not too far, is that the tower of Ulysses where once Telemachus watched black mass Mulligan sacred shaving interrupted by old Ireland who may have forgotten her own tongue but remembering to bring the milk had her tits compared to moo cows and other things I cannot now remember. everything old once was new like some profundity this rolls around in my brain tickling something in me I’m not sure of any more than why.
Cutting across I decide on O’Connell, I am afraid of the city only now when I am so indecisive about destinations as if there is some gang of violence waiting for that sign I send of not knowing where I’m going. Jackals of the lost man wandering seeking safety in the numbers of O’Connell, safe among the herds, oblivious to the old, ignorant of the new. penniless. No merchants sanctuary, a foreigner among the African languages and Friesian competitors, children named Rosalitta frown then smile, German hippies Burberry plaid guitars,
Somehow I don’t belong except to old bullet holes on the GPO, rusted tin enamelled placards above the discount shop on Talbot, soldier statues, new inns ward, eroded Grecian friezes on greasy brick work, stained glass window cracked holes. Noticing no one seems to notice like me wanting to some how take the time to repair myself, remind myself, enquire of the passer byes as to whom they attribute freedom to.
We are in a hurry to forget, do our best to not remember.
There has never been another day like today
There has never been another way
It has always been so
World without life
Amen.
A long cat stretch beach of green benches
Cobble stone tides break debris from yesterday’s storm
Soggy cardboard
Bleached pigeon bones
Desperate for sunglasses
Into the leather sleeves of my dreams
I lean
an earlier version of the was published by : The Legendary, Down Dirty Word, issue#16 –
http://www.downdirtyword.com/authors/pdlyons.html#tp
 | pdlyons on Fallen Lilies, by PD Lyons… |
 | Edward-David Ruiz on 28n03 23 morning coffee notes… |
| pdlyons on Mira Gut, by pd lyons |
| Edward-David Ruiz on Mira Gut, by pd lyons |
| Edward-David Ruiz on Anorexia Nervosa poem and phot… |
