Monthly Archives: October 2021

wordless wednesday 28.10.20. happy halloween video


happy happy all

Pdlyons's Explorations

Hope you all have a happy healthy safe and FUN holiday! cheers!

Thank You For Watching!

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On Today’s Menu #NK Jemisin #ravens #patience


Pdlyons's Explorations

three ruffs written and read by pd lyons poet

On Today’s Menu

N K Jemisin

ravens

patience

With regards to N. K. Jemisin ~ if you have any love left for the genre do yourself an exquisite favour and indulge immediately in these three fine beauties! intricate, dense without reverting into obtuse and not a cliché in site. I loved every minuet of them. Not since my father gave me Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings have I ever read a trilogy more than once. But now…

N.-K.-Jemisin-Broken-Earth-Trilogy-Featured-Image

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#halloween #witches #haunted # written & read by pd lyons. featuring Lucinda


true #miracle #kindness #real life


mir

Self portrait 1979 by pd lyons


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sometimes I miss the horse days & someplace, by pd lyons


occasional it happens

 stray song over the kitchen radio

 old photo tucked into a book that for no reason i just picked up to thumb through

i hardly let it pause me

i usually just keep going

occasional it happens

 my old bones do an old ache

  glimpse that crooked clavicle in the bathroom mirror

 hardly let it pause me

 usually just keep going

occasional it happens

strong scent of well oiled leather maybe someones coat

packed tight on the morning train

mists trough the damp windows

shadows moving up the hills

hardly let it pause me

 usually just keep going

occasional it happens

but you know sometimes when it does

i just don’t feel like moving

stay right there  face the tears

yeah sometimes i miss the horse days

sometimes i just fucking do

Someplace

Down on the avenue
Work ’til the day is through
I just want to get away
But you know I never do.
And when the sun goes down
I’ll be sitting all alone
Watch them old cowboy shows
On some second hand video.

Wishing I was someplace
Where grass just grows n rain is clean
Where horses run and black birds sing
Someplace where the sky is big n the only cry
From an eagle on the wing.

But I’m city bound by plastic chains
Robbed to death by men with ball point pens.
My hopes gone up in Marlboro smoke
N ghosts of what used to be my dreams
Haunt me with wondering if I’ll live long enough to ever be

Someplace where grass just grows n rain is clean
Where horses run n black birds sing
Someplace where the sky is big and the only cry
From an eagle on the wing.

Someplace where I can ride for days
N never see another human being

pdlyonsphoto

pdlyonsphoto

pdlyonsphoto

an old guy walking #pdlyons #photography #horses & red bird


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grass is always greener – even if its a driveway

an old guy

walking on the side of the road

rain soft across my face

bird songs my smile

the wind sings through my bones

ancient instruments loving the moon

born in the month of strawberries.

Soft like snow

Every movement

A steady meticulous tenderness

muddy corner

by the gate

one horse waits

walking by

Those Long Always Summer Huge Silver Moon Nights the Colour of Your Soul Because They Are.


And you could reach out for my hand and I would take it

And you could whisper me questions and I would answer

And you could open my mouth bringing breath to me

And I the same with you –

A gift of moon

 of soul

of all those long always summer nights between us.

I am birds


bags of silk

Daydreaming as a profession

the other night she went to
sleep 
listening to 
subliminal audios

and woke up in the morning
saying, “I am birds. Many, many
birds trapped together in
a bag of silk. This thing
that the world looks
at and calls my body is but 
a bag of silk
that traps birds inside. I am not
the bag. A bag isn’t alive. I 
am the birds inside the bag. And
I must get out!” 

She ran into 
the bathroom

Her father shrugged. “Fuckin’ shit,”
he said, shaking his head. 
“To think that she could’ve
been a doctor, or a lawyer, or
an engineer. She could’ve
been anything. But she 
chose to study
creative writing in college. Now
she’s a poetess... 
and we are no more than
characters lost
in her verses.”


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Intryck, inre /Impressions, inside


English google trans

Dusk laughs magenta

weeping eyes desire existence

stars waste their time

pools of water spill silver

the streets stare red

But the footsteps follow in the footsteps of anxiety.

Throbbing, chasing, fleeing.

Dizzy along the square

Sparks against broken windows, dark green

Yolanda - "Det här är mitt privata krig"

Skymningen skrattar magenta

gråtfyllda ögon önskar existens

stjärnor slösar sin tid

vattenpölar spiller silver

gatorna stirrar rött

Fast fotstegen vandrar i orons spår.

Bultande, jagande, flyktlikande.

Yrar längs torget

Gnistrar mot trasiga fönster, mörkgröna

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