Monthly Archives: January 2014

my little tiny child – by pd lyons


 

 

Can I soften you against yourself?
Can I Buddha like teach the softer way?

If I told you, you are my treasure,
If I told you, you’re most precious
If I told you more than joy you brought into my life

Can I soften you against yourself?
Can I Buddha like teach the softer way?

If I told you, you are my little tiny child
If  I told you, lully, lullay my little tiny child?

Lully, lullay

 

 

DSC_8132

Advertisements

Nick Drake Yoga


 

Last night watched the fog roll in. Light enough, it was that near full moon and every Orion star shown through. The frost followed hard. Its animation audible and all moving across the lawn.

 

This morning the world still silvery and crunchy. Sorted out the hens. Made offerings to the wild birds. Messed about in the kitchen; dishes, laundry, porridge. Cleaned out the ashes. Got a fire going; turf, hedgerow cuttings  a few lumps of coal. Then gathered survival supplies – mat, pens, paper, laptop, orange, nettle tea. Retreat. Set up the barricades.

Sanctuary is this sitting room with its now blazing fire.

(clothes of sand by nick drake: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oE6PfDsYVjA 

DSC_3214

 

 

Away I Say – by pd lyons (happy february)


DSC_5291

fine coffeed morning slipped snow like into an afternoon

Carlos Gardel tango amidst New England February

but I cannot think of anything

I cannot allow anything

cold feet

predominates

my inflated bladder

only getting up

only option

despite all wall to ceiling windows

pouring the heart of winter out into my rooms

away I say away I go to pee………

DSC_5289

mullingar to dublin – by pd lyons (with blue hydrangea & child)


blue hydrangea

blue hydrangea

 

Mullingar To Dublin

all the things you’ve not seen before
passing landscapes unnoticed by train

windows onto stray sheep,
ancient brick-works,
pines taller than any house,
piles of rusted metal,
latticed bridges cross to places no longer there,
high wall back gardens, endless grey guardians of new housing.
~
 warmed over mumble voices distracting
stories of prices and other countries travelled
stars not of skies but hotels, restaurants
places remembered so much better than here
at least so much cheaper.
 ~
 the child in the twirly skirt in the aisle
stops her spinning –
noticing five nearly identical grey horses canter up a hillside
she calls me.

DSC_6018

When we lived on Nelson Ave. by pd lyons


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

 

DAD – a poem by pd lyons from: Wanting To Be In The Old Tongue


CSC_2219

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 the music’s playin’ 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  expect 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?

.

 

 

may all who journey remember

may all who journey remember

 

Maiden Lane, poetry by pd lyons


DSC_8549

Maiden Lane

spoon-fed in the dark room

draped by butterfly hands

angels tiptoe all around

curling quiet across the bed

behind sunglasses and cups of old coffee

home to lands edge from the sea

the city stirs a brown wrapped overcoat

with room for damp cigarettes

and no place else to go

among the 4 A.M.’s.

~~~

down the block of slow return lean

one last quarter into the viewer

and there as far away as

possible, the rusted Dutch

freighter makes its way through

another sleepless night

like rain.

DSC_9106

ghosts don’t really live forever – by pd lyons


DSC_7903

ghosts don’t really live forever

the going back to sort things out

pathetic delusional thinking

there is no back to go to

time is a path of matches

boot heels of my sorry self

strike each one with each step

only a smoke behind

only the potential fire ahead

that too illusion

eventually realize this to be true

one match at a time

appearing to appear beneath each heel

going no where

but

right

wonderfully

fucking

here

and that moment when

I know this to be so –

that’s the fucking fire man

the wonderful wonderful fire man

DSC_9027

 

 

 

In Death if Dreams Be loved by pd lyons


In Death if Dreams Be loved

he had stayed away before

afraid of his own dreams

now 5:30 in the a.m.

she had come to him

so real he cursed god

for her death

wept into the kitchen

with her father

cursed god again

once more when sleep had took him

with out words she came

sat with him on deep scorch-less grass

head to head

dark her eyes kept him breathless

until once more was gone

DSC_8562

north to rome – by pd lyons from Morning Movies


 

we took the train north to Rome
started with sweat and bullets
wishing for a better meal next stop
village by village dust bells along
following the steady steel rhythm

hours drift lulling with common motion
 landscapes we have come to know
keep pace as we imagined
being closer than we ever were
before leaving

Reggio Calabria

SAM_0003

 

%d bloggers like this: