razor black mirror porcelain by pd Lyons

razor black

mirror porcelain

for your

rose bud

bird song mouth

I have made bouquets

gathering

shadow light

creatures wonderful

grotesques fortuitous

clear potable water

dark caves beneath a sunless world

secret hand fulls

tremors lolled by after glows

alone like ivory your room in blosom

rich solitudes of orchid

perfumed isolations

joys

with

or

without

love

i only make for you

boomerz by pd lyons

Boomerz

I live only in memory
The day to day does not inspire me
I only want to sit here think about what used to be.

Here only in my own home.
Locked doors, paid taxes, insurance policies, protect me.
TV,  petrol chemicals, nourish me.

People not like me outrage me.

A Country Dance by PD Lyons

 

 

A Country Dance by PD Lyons

 

I am a feeder of crows

My distant neighbour, a farmer

None too pleased

 

I feed them

He shoots them

A thing we do out here

 

Sometimes when I drive by his gates

I see the carcases

black birds hung on a barbed wire

 

Often, I wonder if he’d like my heart to hang

But then I’m sure like me he knows

Takes two to tango

.

mix media by Morgan Lyons

Crows by Morgan Lyons

First Kiss by PD Lyons from As if the Rain Fell in Ordinary Time

I remember the music

When you were 16

Pretending to dance

So, I could feel you close

 Whenever I did, you’d laugh

It was slow 2, 3, slow 2, 3,

 We swayed we leaned

Found out what we smelled like behind each other’s ears

But we didn’t care much because we didn’t let go.

    Your hands all polished white, fingers stronger than any small thing

I remember the music

When you were 16

Soft sweet

A slow mystery

Moving together

Surprised by ourselves

 Moonless summer night

Even in shadow closed our eyes,

 Bumped our noses …

 I remember the music,

   But lately can’t seem to picture your face

      That’s how it is these days,

Memories unhurried slip

 Like horses,

       To other greener places, sometimes though returning on their own…  

Now Safe in Snug Harbour, (sometimes in this writing life part 12) by pd lyons

 

Think there is nothing left because

Things are not they way they were?

I have shouted at the city-blocked midnight

Danced fence post crooked side walked racially slurred neighbourhoods

Found my way past numerous boot strap bras soft slung underwear

Love named and nameless

roof tops-vestibules – pinewood -parked cars – basements – garages – around the corner from some bar

All long railroads of dreams no longer gleaming dull rust misuse

 

Waiting supplicant for the dew that would soon cover us

 Cold reservoir air upon one another

 Our mouths an open universe.

 

 

And days or nights never mattered

Hit by shrapnel amphetamine opiate subduction 

Elegantly by psychedelics led,

What is behind whatever it is that things have become?

Oh these  were meat for you

All this was blessed for words by you

And I needed to know was nothing because all newness was all sacred.

 

Tears of lovers in the dark

Knowing soon that we would part

No longer see another day

The way we were

 Now so far away

 

All my instruments pointed

All my solitude true

It was not to other lovers

No mortal could compare

No substance base, mercurial,

will ever compare  with you. 

~

I could not understand factories of men and beer 

3 from Dudjom Rinpoche read by PD Lyons

 

~

1. I, a roaring lion

2. The lofty snow mountain’s upper summits

3. When the sun arrives at the center ~

from Wisdom Nectar

by

Dudjom Rinpoche

translated by

Ron Garry

Snow Lion Publications Tsadra Foundation Series

2003

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It is a world of ghosts, by pd lyons

Pdlyons's Explorations

I live with ghosts.

all memories are ghosts

all the things I’ve yet to do?

ghosts to be.

I am the ghost becoming for all others,

just as they are for me.

It is a world of ghosts.

Where is everyone you ever knew?

Every thing you have ever done?

All that is this present,

All that has become past,

All that will ever be –

ghostliness.

That is what we know

and that is what we fear.

Not because of any harm,

no ghost can really cause harm.

But because no ghost can  touch,

or indeed be touched.

That is why we continuously  deny our existence.

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Such Have I Heard, (first draft) by pd lyons

 

Such have I heard ~

soft moss mornings a mist unsolvable.

harsh sheets stones on a frozen ground each bouncing echoing.

wounded banshee whiplash dark empty fingers naked  trees.

smooth smothering heat

days wrapped in wet cottons left out between a desert of noon

myriad  deep yielding into deeper nights

 

Such have I heard ~

alone  only my slender secret self

.  how to bring any comfort to what has gone beyond?

 would they surrender such treasure willingly?

could it happen even so?

 

the dead

 who better else to weep

who better else between the worlds?

a sea of tears,

a sailing of  ghosts

such have I heard

such have I known

.

Didn’t We Used to Know Better, circa 1973 by PD Lyons

 

 

bacon I believe

When he would reach both hands open wide sky pull fists into fits as if muscle alone could change the world and make whatever it was roiled inside come out into some sort of peace serenity wisdom of sages and healer of masses. Instead of cigarette bourbon beer, instead cocaine snotty girls lines and rocks wine and physical graffiti still life with twitched nerve endings. Calling it love. Calling it art Calling it life dancing with death as if fear could be appeased by feigning recklessness bravado of a bullying sort.

Gimme a light will yea man. Give men a buck if you got it. I’m tired of standing out here the wind is high and I’m not and brother could I use at least a cuppa coffee. Don’t I know you from school? Didn’t we grow up on the same block? Didn’t your sister go out with me brother? Didn’t your daddy know mine? Days were when I could-a brother, days when I didn’t ask. Days when I dealt bought or stolen. days when I wasn’t so old. Used to call it a party then. Used to call is a rush. Used to call it a living. Now its just doing time. Wouldn’t you spare us a smoke then? Wouldn’t you have some loose change? Didn’t we play ball together? Didn’t we used to get drunk? Didn’t we used to know better? Couldn’t you just help me out?

 

pdlyonsphoto

Cover photo of Mays Book in my Kitchen. words by PD Lyons Poet

(May Sarton)

 

how many years

how many miles

 

today the sun just above the horizon

orange auras long silver fingers

 

first frost this year

my unkempt garden

my unkempt heart

 

wilderness

not afraid

 

I would not set the desk

so, my back be to the window

 

I would squander how many poems?

for the distracting view.

 

as well as to be honest

I’d like to see anyone who’d be coming

or thing for that matter

but as I think on that, I realize

 

here in my kitchen

I do indeed have my back to the wall so to speak

I have no view of the front or side driveways

 

only a slight view over the  sink

uneven fence line, ruff grass field, distant trees

not one inch of a glimpse of the little lake

destined to be sapphire in this daylight

the house was not built by someone with views in mind

 

the laundry machine dominates

the last load dwindles the side windows

sweatshirts, dress shirts, Morgan’s school jumper

hang on the curtain rail

 

still the sun finds a spot of gloss on the black mahogany table

just in time for me to go.

~

two swans

over a lake I cannot see

this morning brought November

unknown photographer