Pdlyons's Explorationsif you want to write
you don’t need to prep
you don’t need the latest gadget
you certainly don’t need to wait
you don’t need to even spell
what you need to do –
write.
write more than you tv
write more than you worry
write more than you think
write more than you know –
and you don’t need to know much.
see no matter what you do
no matter what you live
no matter what your experience
its all material
its all educational
its all inspirational
if only you will –
write.
then read.
On the train today I thought about death. Usually those types of thoughts only visit me when I am most vulnerable, that being when I am about to go to sleep. Although today at 4:00 in the afternoon while riding the train, it knocked on the door of my mind. Somehow this time, instead of being frightened, I found myself sift into a comfortable sadness. Perhaps being surrounded by strangers made me feel at ease, feeling a bond with my fellow people, knowing that despite our differences, there are always two things that we will always share with each other. Life and death.
Always,
Reylia
nights like these
too many in a row
fire dulled my senses
sought by spirits to refine
but
you come like the ghost your are
through no acquired taste
through no summoning spell
just the opposite
innocent? – never that but bystander none the less.
and you?
there are so many of you
years have no substance
distance no space
sometimes your name is lost
not your face
never a face
or a mouth
or an activity of sexuality
the things we did, the why we parted
and you and you and you
never would i surrender any of you to the stupidity of guilt
treasures of a life time
still love
no matter what you’d think of me
.
An Index of Women Poets from Poethead A Kira A Aíne Mac Aodha Anna Akhmatova Chris Allen I Chris Allen II Dvora Amir Margaret Atwood Candi V. Auchterlonie I Candi V. Auchterlonie II Candi V. Auchte…
Source: An Index of Women Poets
… it is really important to recognize that this text is poetry and we need to read it as poetry because the quality of experience is an aesthetic appreciation, a direct experience. it is not an analytic construct. we want to use the poetry to free ourselves, rather than to wrap ourselves in ever more concepts. – James Low; Being Right Here referring to Dzogchen treasure text.
we are always wearing ruby slippers.
essence of all things is loneliness
loneliness is not what you think
we are no thing – PDL
The main point is what Buddha once said: “I discovered something profound and luminous beyond all concepts. I tried to communicate it with words, but nobody understands. So now I will meditate alone in the forest”. This verse of Buddha is the conclusion of the teachings. – Chogyal Namkhai Norbu
the duck of sport, love and compassion with buddha
our slender youth
silver blood
cool
night pearls
unstrung dawn
every reason in the world
sunlight avoided
~
pdlyons photo
if you happen to be in the locality on April 13th then please come along!
Michael J. Whelan – Poet, South Lebanon -1994
Hi all, just to let you know that the launch date & venue for my PEACEKEEPER poetry collection, which is being published by Doire Press, has been confirmed for Wednesday 13th of April 2016 at 6.30pm at the County Library Tallaght. I’m looking forward to the launch, to seeing people holding the finished product and reading the poems, which were inspired by my tours of duty as a United Nations Peacekeeper with the Irish Defence Forces in South Lebanon and Kosovo. The poems are also about the many Irish soldiers who served in those countries over the years and will be the first collection of its kind in Ireland to do so. A big THANK YOU to Doire Press for believing in the poems.
Please keep the date in mind and if you happen to be in the locality on…
View original post 6 more words
congratulations. i am sure that this most excellent cover is indicitive of the content. so yes i’m judging a book by its cover 🙂
She walked down the street. She wasn’t too sure what to do with herself. All she knew was, it was too cold for her hands. The skin of her hands like rose petals left in a jar of oil but perhaps too long or else not long enough either way not right because now they were coloured only by pale veins robbed by the scent meant to preserve.
She walked down the street. Each step as if she meant it more than the previous.
Anyone who saw her would have had not doubt thinking: now there goes a woman with some place to go and not to happy about it either. This was exactly true. She was sick of it. She wanted to smack winter right across the face with a stick. Send the bastard running home with a broken nose both eyes soon to blacken full of tears. Really knock enough sense into him so he’d never over stay again.
She walked through the doorway. Oak and glass door swung freely. Easily she pushed on the well polished despite the weather brass handles. She entered on the chime of invisible bells. Tiny silvery bells as the door opened and once again as it swung shut behind her. The aroma was wonderful – instinctively she took a deep breath exhaling an audible ahh. She knew she was in the right place. The air was a thing to be savoured, a rich mouth watering sensation not stopping there but spread warm and tangible into finger tips, hairs on the back of her neck ending up with a gentle but distinct thump in her heart.
She stood at the glass counter. It too was oak trimmed with brass. It took only a moment for the tobacconist to turn and greet her. She had expected him to be older than he was. She had expected him to be smiling, sparkling grey or maybe blue eyes dancing with fragments of reflected light behind the gold wire frame glasses – and he was. She thought he must be one of the last of his kind. Sadly shops like this would soon be a thing of the past. But that was the way of it, all is transitory. She smiled back at him. Asked him for what she came for.
Cigarette tobacco. No particular brand but none of that light stuff. Something full strength. Something from Holland. For some reason the Dutch always had a knack for good tobacco. Even these days when cigarettes were reduced to being the hot dog of the smoking world – basically whatever was swept up off the factory floor. It was only the stuff from the Dutch still had value. Since she was obviously going to have to use tobacco it might as well be the best. She was happy with the forty grams halfzware shag it really was a beautiful long rich blend. She was happy enough with the shop keeper and their little exchange of pleasantries. He had agreed with her completely and commiserated briefly with her, concerning the demise of quality pre-rolled cigarettes and the awful state of the weather He even had those thin rice papers. The kind you could almost see through. The kind of cigarette paper made for tobacco not for the appeasement of those hippie pot heads.
Overall she was quite happy she came to this shop. .. No not happy she thought. Not happy at all. That bastard. That incompetent dilly dally winter bastard.. Oh she was going to show him. She was going to fix him but good for driving her nuts.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shag_%28tobacco%29#Netherlands
photographer unknown http://www.peterson.ie/
Maria Verdi Sky
red bird
across snow banks
sun the sun the sun the sun
the sun sun sun
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