Monthly Archives: June 2013

From The Country Of Stones by PD Lyons


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

riverside  waterbury ct

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

riverside, Waterbury Ct.

 

 

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Poems by Eleanor Hooker


Poems by Eleanor Hooker.

WE LIVE IN A CULTURE OF RAPE


WE LIVE IN A CULTURE OF RAPE.

When We Lived On Nelson Ave. by PD Lyons as published by Blue Lotus Review


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

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45 – (Taylor Swift, 22)


Coryander....band

Sometimes you have to just embarrass yourself and apparently, I’m pretty good at it.

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Travel Theme: Ripples


Quote of the Day


Quote of the Day.

from: Rumours of Another Summer, New Work by PD Lyons


 

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

amazon.com/author/pdlyons

 

now on kindle

now on kindle

 

Pop Song 1994, lyrics pd lyons, music bren lyons


pop song 1994

Down the streets of ecstasy
I’ll take my chances endlessly
And there’s no need for me to run
With my fingers wrapped around a gun reality what can it be
But a misery you set for me
there’s no sense in wanting more cuz
this is what I have been put here for

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

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4R45NRQcd5I

a revised version of the lyric appears in Not Quite Tomas, revised poems by pd lyons, 2008, Macdermott, Myo & Razooka. Shrunahella Westmeath.
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Looking for Work In Dublin, by pd lyons


morg photos

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

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