Monthly Archives: July 2015

A Mandala of Dinosaurs, A Message of Lovers, A Mostly of Crows, by pd lyons

A Mandala of Dinosaurs, A Message of Lovers, A Mostly of Crows



A mandala of dinosaurs      A pestilence of motorcyclists


A red sky of warnings      A coyote of marzipan


A zygote of intelligence      Crystal of Elan-ists


Soda of psychopaths      Preponderance of dictators


Herald of crows      Kansas of superpowers


An eclipse of educators      Blessing of coffees


An autumn of smudges      A winter of geese


A summer of topiaries      A spring of dreams


Empire of penises      A squander of vaginas


A catapult of efforts      A plethora of crows


An envy of ravens      A parcel of pachyderms


A coagulant of desires     A Mercury of fish


Kick-start of starlings     Meandering of serpents


Bucket of worms      Sack of cats


A giggle of girls      Shyness of boys


A Saladin of wisdoms      A crisis of faiths


A plague of religions      Carpet of bread crumbs


Sanctity of prisoners     A rats-ass of carers


Trombone of sex      Conglomerate of crows


A pudding of infants      A declaration of sea shells


A tumble of puppies       A cartoon of kittens


Meander of mysteries     A half league of words


A complaint of crows      A severance of hopes


An ignorance of drivers       A Shenandoah of daughters


A crux of sons       A crossing of souls


A delightful of crows       A smatter of kisses


A moonbeam of tongues       A secretion of secrets


A message of lovers.







Mira Gut, by pd lyons

Pdlyons's Explorations

Mira Gut

there are no flowers here but snow.
the bay not yet free chunked with ice
the white of which exists only against a distant liquid sea.
at least the sun visits, comforting,
illusion though it is,
visions of thawing, melting down to something green.

in the long sleep of winter I have dreamed
something Spanish that you said along a twilight turquoise
something soft covering sun drenched shoulders
silver threads an old man’s harp played for money by the moon.


Was lucky enough to live in Cape Breton for a while. The area Mira Gut was where the river Mira entered the Atlantic. We lived across the street from the ocean. Sometimes we’d walk down to the Mira bridge and fish for mackerel. Some of the most beautiful parts of being there were the winters.  this was probably written on 2003.


View original post

Jellyfish Whispers

Pdlyons's Explorations

A Poem by pd lyons

only august
almost quiet
only feather sounds
almost still
only slow
steady beating
as if horses
taught themselves
to march in order
across the fields
almost green
only smoky
spiral dust
almost damp descending
as if insects
finally taught themselves
to sing
like falling rain
across midday
almost yawning
only august
pd lyons has been writing for a long time now and hopes to continue doing so for even longer. Work has appeared in many mags & zines through out the world. Has two collections of poetry published by Lapwing Press Belfast. For further info please visit pdlyons blog for poetry publishing info and new releases:

About the Editor

My Photo

A.J. Huffman
A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida. She has previously published four…

View original post 61 more words

Xunantunich, by pd lyons – from Myths of Multiplicity

Pdlyons's Explorations

In 1990 I was lucky enough to travel to Belize. For half the trip we were doing a horse trekking in the highlands. We stayed at a former orange plantation – i remember most vividly the  of free flying parrots. They were elegant airborne acrobats so unlike those domesticated souls back in the states. We wold ride through the jungle for hours sometimes lunching by water falls, or swimming into limestone caves. we each were issued a machete to lop off the foliage as we rode. It was deemed poor etiquette to not do your fair share of keeping the trails clear. occasionally we’d pass trees of ripe citrus – reach up from horse back and pick one. Our guide had worked with Harrison Ford on a film based in Belize. He told us he really liked Harrison and became friendly with him. So much so that Harrison promised to…

View original post 463 more words

Lessons On Foreign Languages In A Reeperbahn Café by Djanet Tozeur / Slipstream #14 sex food death issue version

why not

Pdlyons's Explorations

Lessons On Foreign Languages In A Reeperbahn Café

for Cordula


trees or torture…”

my breasts were made for children and your fingers…”

choices are limited by the boundaries of the playing surface…”

how do you know that’s not a table?”

if we could meet in Ireland by the palm trees…

everyone drinks Guinness and whiskey, every one drinks Paddy”

“even in the ancient holes of Greece, the big dig and who

wouldn’t give up school for the bones of Archimedes ?”

to find the way past childhood, finding the past of childhood,

the paths of childhood past the personal to the collective…”

who wouldn’t give up tomorrow for a chance to come into Pandora’s Box ?”

well when I am god I shall bless Pandora, bless Eve, bless all those who

turned away from paradise and instead followed the stars


View original post 899 more words

Baskin-Robbins, poetry and photo by pd lyons



Sixty- two Chevy pick up
Bondo dust and shot exhaust
Your brother driving 84 east
Neil on the radio
I smoked a million cigarettes
So you wouldn’t try n kiss me
Not cause of that but because your brother already wanted to kill me
Was only driving me to Waterbury
So I wouldn’t have no excuse
To hang around you

Cowgirl in the sand





Dance of Childhood



William in the grass




he could not find you amazing, poetry & photography by pd lyons


“feed on us before you bury us” – Anais Nin


he could not find you amazing
he could not touch your mystery
he could re call vast wilderness
adrift among archetypal feminine
a wash among deltas
Venus like salt mingling with new rain
blood like midnights paling   lunary

a pleasure beyond wounds
a mingling beyond physicality
a hungrier type of mouth
willing to feed and to be fed upon




drawn up the spectre of a planet from the limbo of lunary souls — E. A. Poe

To — — –. Ulalume: A Ballad

By Edgar Allan Poe

riverside waterbury ct

riverside waterbury ct


white onions on black slate photographs





Pisto Lee (excerpt)

from the olden days

Pdlyons's Explorations

salamander yellow pad

,Pistol Lee

We’d just been saddling up the horses, like we done how many times before? Just another day, morning still stiff on our fingers we fumbled around with buckles and leathers . I wasn’t paying much mind to him, we were saying few words as the day was far too early to have eased our aches and pains of haven rid for miles and slept hard on stony ground. He was in mid sentence about something I don’t remember, when all of a sudden he let out this “son of a bitch”. All I caught was a glimpse of that mare, one of our spare mounts, s kitting away from him. Still holding his back he turned hissing ” You son of a bitch.” She didn’t seem to notice the irate man intent on murder stepping towards her until he lost his balance and in…

View original post 1,706 more words

%d bloggers like this: