Pdlyons's Explorations
unknown photographer
What is discovered
is beyond doubt
what is discovered
is beyond choice
free from duality
is certainty
belief has nothing to do
with what is
the teacher shows
the steps
the student takes
the walk
the teacher shows
a way
the student who goes
knows
there is no need to believe
La la la la la
I am rolling on the waves
on the waves
on the waves
I am rolling on the waves
far away from shore
The sun is shining not too strong
not too strong
not too strong
The sun is shining not too strong
far away from shore
Happy dolphins guiding me
guiding me
guiding me
Happy dolphins guiding me
far away from shore
In front of Tabei, who had already cleared numerous danger spots while also coping with the physical and mental stresses of high-altitude climbing, was an icy, knife-edge ridge forming part of the border of Nepal and China.
She would have to make a downward traverse of this ridge for about 14 or 15 meters — knowing that one mistake would send her plunging 5,000 meters on the northern, Chinese side or down to around 6,400 meters on the Nepalese side, where she could just see her Japanese Women’s Everest Expedition’s Camp II. http://www.japantimes.co.jp/life/2012/05/27/people/junko-tabei-the-first-woman-atop-the-world/#.U394aoZLuJM
“also the first woman to climb the “Seven Summits”: the highest mountains on seven continents.
i will whisper my heart
like music
over the secrets of your skin
Born on January 26, 1892 in Atlanta, Texas, Bessie Coleman was one of 13 children to Susan and George Coleman, who both worked as sharcroppers. http://www.biography.com/people/bessie-coleman-36928#awesm=~oF0BOHRrIMTtVR
Elizabeth “Bessie” Coleman (January 26, 1892 – April 30, 1926) was an American civil aviator. She was the first female pilot of African American descent[1] and the first person of African-American descent to hold an international pilot license http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bessie_Coleman
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jYYy-dT44
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/b/bessie_coleman.html#dmH0Iuceqog76HHZ.99
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/b/bessie_coleman.html#dmH0Iuceqog76HHZ.99
only in my fantasy
we stay
spoon fed in the darkroom
our bodied stretch
real places
long ago
forgot by all but we few
we fortunate few
known space
known true dark
how could
you of all those
lucky ones who knew
have left
and me,
like any other dope fiend
trail by substitution
as if ever lies could
get me high
Fore Abbey
Whiskered wooden posts
Decorated by bits of rusted star crossed metal
Silhouettes upon the hillsides
Random marks above the weeds
As if graves of unknown beings
Silent but for crows
Tied like rags upon an invisible thread
Suspended ever changing from an ever changing sky
More shades of grey than words I know
And when the sun
Ignites as far as I can see
A brief and brilliant green such as emeralds could only dream
Sure as this November morning makes each breath a smoky prayer
I know this rolling valley is the wherever I should exactly be
Cut stones shifted by anonymous hands
Nameless legacy bequeathed from each to each
Now held by my own
What lingers here for however long
Richer than any fame
Black earth by sparkling pebble beds
Fed by springs that have no end
Remembered by some other unknown soul
All who left their mark upon this land.
A version of this appeared in the Irish American Post in 2006. It’s good to be home.
Poetry Reading
now that i have discovered
an empty heart
i am ready for anything
now that i have learned the fallacy of power
i am ready for anything
now that i know the only time
i am not alone is delusional
i am free
New Riders at the Palace. Four dollars fifty cents; Sunset show. Hanging on East Main hour n a half to go. Around the corner by the Shamrock bar, light a joint and walk about. Pass by two guys from California. Walk together for a while passing the joint between us. They go into the Palace Hotel. I stand in line for the doors to open. Hare Krishnas make the rounds up and down the line say Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna and they give you a cookie or something sweet, sometimes give you a book or a booklet cool pictures to bring home and paste up on the wall trippy coloured god-head with many many many blue tinged girls. Turns out the guys from California were in the band one was the drummer and the other played steel or pedal or something I cant remember now cause it’s over forty years gone by. Used to tell people it was Garcia but I don’t know, I mean I didn’t know who they were then so how could I have ever said for sure at any point?
Along the lane
Straight down as rain
Without wind
Without sound
Wrapped in briar vines
Emerging posts of bone
As if some ancient mariner
Draws me in a secret un-gloved caress.
I wanted to keep you for myself.
I wanted you to stay, because you went.
But the police,
After further questioning
Came up with ideas all their own
And in so doing, made contact with
The families of the disappeared.
Occasionally,
To men in long wrinkled coats, they speak,
A fog of voices drifting apart,
Before reaching any type of destination.
Taking turns, cast looks around,
As if this really were sea
And answers like shoals of silver fishes lurk
Just beneath the surface.
Careful. Pretending not to notice
How each movement flickers in the lights
As if this really were all some cinematic image
Screened with no one but the actors in the audience.
Their silence magnifies only certain sounds:
Elastic latex snap,
Slicing shovel slaps,
Unsteady cigarette sighs,
Plastic, almost echo, abruptly ending zip.
Believing their expectations to be accurate predictions
They came for something clear and full of meaning,
Something settling and complete,
To find, as if some great surprise,
Only the obvious inescapably revealed.
Unlike them I know you not by what you’ve lost,
But rather by what you’ve brought back.
It was that which drew me
In secret un-gloved caress
And now plays out
Along the landscapes of my every night
And haunts my every morning with regret.
I wanted to touch that forbidden you again.
To trace upon that more secret map
Etched, invisible to the naked eye,
Every line of your journey.
To put my lips to you,
Circling with the tip of my tongue,
So that I’d know, everything.
I wanted to sift your powder through my fingers,
Into that coloured jar covered with a brass cap,
Tucked into my bedside drawer,
Sprinkled, whenever I wanted,
Not just as some aphrodisiac
Or good luck charm across my bed
But so, engendered with bodily fluids
You’d take on some other life
And I’d find out,
Just exactly, what it was, that I’d be thinking
As I lay there in the dust
Of the disappeared.
this version originally published by Muse Thing: The Calliope Nerve http://calliopenerve.blogspot.ie/search/label/PD%20Lyons
this was published in 2010 by another cool named yet now defunct blog zine. the archives are still “live” on line. you would find a great many darker artists represented there. the editor was very kind to me and of course many others. the poem has to do with what it says which unfortunately is a rather world-wide theme although it does have an Irish slant; so i think that’s enough said. it was probably written in 1998 or so when i had first moved from the USA to Ireland. we were living in an old two-story farm-house in county Cavan, a bit in the middle of no where – our nearest neighbours were the cattle in the fields and the crows nesting in the giant yew trees.
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