Author Archives: pdlyons

Brief bio:
Originally from the states, (Waterbury, Connecticut) but liking it here for the past ten years in Ireland. Spent a few years before that in Cape Breton Nova Scotia – great winters there for writing. Travelled a bit, worked a lot, and raised two wonderful children as well as horses (Morgan, Andalusian, Thoroughbred, Irish Sport Horse) in U.S. and Ireland. Have worked as a dishwasher, floor washer, textile mill labourer, construction labourer, pesticide sprayer, fire safety inspector, toy shop manager, women’s shoe shop manager, substance abuse counsellor, etc. currently working on new poetry collection :”The Women, a 46 year retrospective in poetry”
Cheers
Caribu & Sister Stones published by lapwing belfast
via
http://www.freewebs.com/lapwingpoetry/

Disappearing Behind Me Into Sky, by pd lyons : for Tedra


night woodDisappearing Behind Me Into Sky

shadow of crows
from the tree
disappears behind me to the sky
she had crystals hanging in nearly every window of the house
purified energy – coming in, going out
Mystic Connecticut, the town not the sea port
she bought me one for my car
that little shop just by the draw bridge
had it for years, hung from the rear view mirror one car to another to another

I’ve no idea where it is now though
or how I came to part with it
disappeared maybe it’s with that lock of her hair she gave me?
actually a braid cut from her first hair cut
when she was… maybe late twenty’s
Called me a stupid jerk when she found out I’d lost it

Another shadow; like crows, like Connecticut, like herself
disappears behind me to the sky

for tedra

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Shouldn’t the question be….


how new angels are received / for Colorado from my heart


pd lyons photography 2022

the poet PD Lyons Reading from As If The Rain Fell In Ordinary Time ~ part 3, w/text


~todays menu~
Pensioners Remiss
Knowing Now the Healing Ways
Atlantic Luncheonette 
~
themes: growing old, 1970’s, love, city
 

PD Lyons Reading from As If The Rain Fell In Ordinary Time erbacce~prize for poetry 2019 erbacce~press Liverpool UK

Pensioners Remiss – incorporates a variety of scenes from my home town Waterbury Ct. St Johns Church for example is still there on the green.

Knowing Now the healing Ways – again influenced by my hometown and my first apartment back in the 70’s. 

Atlantic Luncheonette – one of those classic coffee shops in America long before Starbucks or cappuccinos. On the corner opposite the exquisite white marble Waterbury Post Office. Many a skipped school day involved the Atlantic – strategically placed half a block from the library. How ironic, skipped school to hang out in the library. They even let you smoke in there back then but that’s another poem or two…

 

Thanks for spending time . 

cheers.

good luck

bye

!

 

  • Pensioners Remiss

When I wanted to see you,

Young and available

Dresses out amidst a blue jean wasteland

Stoned as laughter smoky charms

Dancing any moment unannounced

 

On the steps of Spanish little Harlem

Turquoise as your eyes church doors

Sacramental wine just opened

A spiral of possibilities each as believable as the past.

 

When I wanted to see you,

Roads wide open looking to ride

Strong summer muscles

 Love like horses into sunset.

 

 Diamonds across that midnight sky

 Alive only in your love me eyes.

Breathless barefoot pirouette

 Limitless kitchens, dull Frigidaire light.

 Icy India Pale Ale fast as you can drink.

 Third floor back porch dawn

Aegean blue amongst a city of fearlessness.

 

When I wanted to see you,

Saint John’s Chapel Christmas

 Balsam crushed blood velvet

Crystal choir angel

Mysterious as snow.

The mouth you used an accent of hypnosis

Lead like sorrow obsessed with green

 As if summer returned between live pines

 My hands held by your own to cup each one instead.

 

When I wanted to see you,

So much more so than wherever you were

Sharper than anything ever dreamed

So much sooner than now.

 

  • Knowing Now the Healing Ways

I could touch you then. I knew you, just around the corner you. Halfway Up the stairs, you. A single rose growing between back yard rubble, you. Travelled by Grey Hound, cross the country, park bench dreamer, double dancer Zelda, you –

A tide of whirlpools. An antebellum majorette beauty queen. You were the most beautiful woman in the world. You were me as a woman. Wanting to be the first one to make love in a whole summer of dry attics never believing for one minute we could end up on the street by Christmas in Connecticut.

I was gonna. I was destined. I was the one. I was the chosen.  Could have been Jesus, preferred to be Krishna, hoped only to be Watermelon Sugar. A thing delectable to your lips, a thing you might someday remember without lying or regret.

You were anything possible,

Meeting again someday.

Around the corner, halfway up the stairs,

Eyes still same as my own,

Knowing now the healing ways,

Strong enough for love.

 

  • Atlantic Luncheonette

     I walked out into a morning

 too bright against my shadows.

Three steps down I’m on the pavement

wondering just how able I am to get along –

Stable as loose change,

  balanced as a junkie on the prowl.

   Still can’t stop thinking about moving

 where it is, I’ll finally get to.

My boots are holes turning into blisters.

Cigarettes keep tempting me with immortality.

Girls across the street dare me to smile.

 

 I make up excuses to call what I’m eating food.

The waitress sings to the radio

 with commercial interruption asks how I am.

  My eggs keep running into hiding,

The coffee strives vainly to hiccup,

 I leave a quarter for the singer,

 a dollar for the poor.

 Ask the women on the corner, how much for conversation?

They say they don’t cater to perversions – try my luck next door.

  I bump into an old friend who asks about my wife,

I say I didn’t know I had one.

Then he’s handing me a ten spot

 says here go catch a cab.

I hand the driver a social security card

he says this ain’t worth noting unless your old.

I tell him my hearts just gone arthritic

He says here pal try a gun.

Xunantunich, by pd lyons – from Myths of Multiplicity


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 flocks  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 take him back to America where he could work for him. But this never happened and now he didn’t like Mr. Harrison Ford too much no more.

Xunantunich is a Mayan  site. It had been excavated years ago, a pyramid complex. The steps of which were terrifyingly steep and slippery with wet limestone. All too quickly we would be done with our days of 4-6 hour rides and return to Belize City our only solace being to go on and spend a week on Ambergris Caye discovering the sea.

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Xunantunich

The silent policeman
Lay himself down
Across the great western highway
Tired from watching everyone
He wants a return to dreaming
A return to those days of the high bush
Those days of the interior.

Swimming into limestone caves
Box of toucan matches
Lighted lantern
Floats on a little block of wood
While on a smoke of kerosene
Coming back to him now, the words of his fathers:
“So now you know. Everything is alive.”

The silent policeman
Lay himself down
Across the great western highway
Tired of growing heavy with the world
He wants a way
To avoid
End of Paradise Hotels
ESSO drums
Coca-Cola CESSNAS
To return
To those days of the interior.

Behind his eyes bare foot women light the lamps
Honey shadows seep up into a palm thatch
While owls make questions of constellations
And rolling in from across the valley
A hush answers “From the pale eye of the hunter
A single tear drop fell arching over an unseen face
It touched Earth and disappeared.”

Ring tail ghosts come by
Soft grey kisses through white jungle nets of night
Beyond an ancient plaza
Immersed in some whisper of wings
Jealous eyes of jaguar
Two great gold pearls on the edge of rain.

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

DSC_8247http://www.metbelize.com/lodging.html

(unfortunately I did not get custody of the photos so none from Belize)

2015 NOTE – in setting up this blog post i search for some info re Xunantunich and found this piece of info kind of interesting, keep in mind i wrote the piece on my flight home in 1990 –  from Wikipedia listing –

Xunantunich’s name means “Stone Woman” in the Maya language (Mopan and Yucatec combination name), and, like many names given to Maya archaeological sites, is a modern name; the ancient name is currently unknown. The “Stone Woman” refers to the ghost of a woman claimed by several people to inhabit the site, beginning in 1892. She is dressed completely in white, and has fire-red glowing eyes. She generally appears in front of “El Castillo”, ascends the stone stairs, and disappears into a stone wall.[citation needed]

Xunantunich – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xunantunich

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myths of multiplicity by pd lyons 2014 runner up erbacce poetry prize

Slow Moon by pd lyons


 

Slow moon

miles ran

rain bent

poplars pines

remembering snow

flickery yellowy butterly

light

echoes of breath

along windows

washed 

as if 

my

eyes

,

Ruff excerpt from the poem Rings of Saturn by pd lyons


 

 

and you know this feeling

it is the constant star

as if you’ve been home sick all your life

for a thing you’ve always known

yet never had…

but these days are good

and also familiar 

days of peace

wet earth and time passing slowly

like the time of children and animals

the time of growing things

each moment

unfolding

each moment you’re knowing

you’ve know it all along

even before there were words to describe it

 

just as you also know

constant stranger moving through these days

unable to stay for very long

a thief only able to carry little bits away

beneath the leather jacket

in a pocket next to your heart.

the hunting fields by pd lyons


When We Lived on Nelson Ave by pd lyons


cbk

When We Lived on Nelson Ave

days when my father took milk and sugar
leaving the spoon in his coffee

my mother whistled among lilacs and roses

mahogany furniture kept well polished
special knives and forks only used on holidays

I knew the name of Lilly of the valley
not to ever put them in your mouth

there were kittens in the sun porch
we watched born from a tabby cat named Felix

there were cherries from our backyard tree
so red I thought they were black,
tasting like no cherries
ever would again

original published June 2010 by Blue Lotus Review

we lived in a small white house at the Meriden road side of Nelson avenue Waterbury Ct. until i was four years old. i can still taste those cherries.

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A fierce and terrifying band of samurai


A fierce and terrifying band of samurai was riding through the countryside, bringing fear and harm wherever they went. As they approached one particular town, all the monks in the town’s monastery fled, except for the abbot. When the band of warriors entered the monastery, they found the abbot sitting at the front of the shrine room in perfect posture. The fierce leader took out his sword and said, “Don’t you know who I am? Don’t you know that I’m the sort of person who could run you through with my sword without batting an eye?” The Zen master responded, “And I, sir, am the sort of man who could be run through by a sword without batting an eye.”

– as told by Sylvia Boorstein in Shambhala Sun, vol16, #3, January 2008

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