Where Her Breasts Used To Be, a love peom by pd lyons

Pdlyons's Explorations

Where Her Breasts Used To Be

he kissed her courage
he kissed her fear
he kissed her sadness
her deep unknowability

because she was his dearest
because she was all he loved
and ever wished to

acrylic on paper pdlyons

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3) My Kitchen at Midnight

Don't Dress Like Beethoven

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its not too bad under the rainbow either

Pdlyons's Explorations

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“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year..flipping pancakes together, my dear!!

BEGUILING HOLLYWOOD

Come the holidays and breakfast seems more of an event than dinner. I love the scent of coffee brewing on a chilly morning, the look of sliced bright red strawberries, the bright blue glow of the gas burner beneath a sizzling skillet of bacon.

And I love the unguarded moments when people first wander into the kitchen, dreams still faintly hovering, hair tousled, pajamas layered with a sweater. I tend to chirp in the morning, some people rumble, others offer their first words sparingly. We all bump along together, hands grazing as we work at stove or counter. Nothing seems so sweet to me as that first light choreography, and the sight of this one’s face.

Happy holidays, and here’s to you!

Fluffy Ricotta Pancakes (for four, double as needed)

4 eggs (separated), 1/4 teaspoon salt, 1/3 cup flour, 1 cup ricotta cheese, 1 teaspoon lemon zest, a pinch of…

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Phoebe, the tabby cat who lived in the shed, By pd Lyons – English/Irish/French

Pdlyons's Explorations

Phoebe

the tabby cat

who lived in the shed

the semi savage

yet ever grateful for the feed

is dead

~

and i am feeling so alone

and i am so sorry

sorry for the whole fucking world

i am

~

crying like a baby

no matter what

everything ends in tears

and the next time…?

the next time…?

~

je répondrai

je répondrai

oui

Phoebe

an cat tabby
a bhí ina gcónaí sa chaillfidh
an Savage leath
ach bhí riamh buíoch as an bheatha
marbh

agus tá mé ag mothú mar sin féin
agus tá mé leithscéal sin
leithscéal as an domhan fucking ar fad
tá mé

ag caoineadh cosúil le leanbh
is cuma cén
Críochnaíonn gach rud i Tears
agus an chéad uair eile ...?
an chéad uair eile ...?

je répondrai
 je répondrai
oui


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Phoebe

Le chat tigré

qui vivait dans le hangar le sauvage demi…

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10 PAYING/NO FEE Literary Magazines – Deadlines: Dec. 15 – Jan. 15, 2018

Trish Hopkinson

The literary magazines/journals listed below all offer some form of payment, do not charge submission/reading fees, take online submissions, and have submission deadlines from December 15, 2017 – January 15, 2018.

This list focuses on poetry submissions, but most lit mags accept prose and art as well. The listings are in order of closest deadlines.

---

Eye to the Telescope

DEADLINE: December 15, 2017

SUBMISSION FEE: None

THEME: “This issue of the Eye to the Telescope explores all things Arthurian. From early epics to modern fantasy and science fiction, stories of the Round Table continue to fascinate.”

FORMS: poetry

FORMAT: online

PAYMENT: “US 3¢/word rounded to nearest dollar; minimum US $3, maximum $25.”

Pittsburgh Poetry Review

DEADLINE: December 15, 2017

SUBMISSION FEE: None

FORMS: poetry

FORMAT: online

PAYMENT: $25/poem

Speculative City

(see editor interview here)

DEADLINE: December 15, 2017 

SUBMISSION FEE: None

FORMS: speculative fiction, poetry, and nonfiction

FORMAT: online

THEME:

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The Things I Didn’t Want to Do, by pd lyons

All my life of lingering lies

Each and every single one

A point to point of indelible regret

 

So dig in deep and hold your mark

Squeeze the trigger, don’t black out

Ain’t that a fitting way for it to end

 

Slow and steady always just a mere formality

I could only follow where the strings were pulling me

 

Like the nagging of my mamma

And the raging of my pa

Those class rooms full of things I couldn’t really understand

And those laws that seemed only to apply to me

 

So dig in deep and hold your mark

Squeeze the trigger, don’t black out

Ain’t that a fitting way for it to end

 

 

And where’s the love like in those songs

And where’s the joy of that gospel god?

The fame and fortune like in those magazines

Fulfilling all those promises made by my TV screen

 

All those things I ever learned

All those lessons so absurd

I was only running after someone else’s manufactured dream.

 

So I’ll dig in deep hold my mark

Squeeze the trigger and not black out

And maybe hope for reinforcement will pan out.