Category Archives: ghost poems

20 September 16, ceremonies of the horseman ruff by pd lyons


 

prisoners haunt the hallways

 

opportunities regretted

 twists turns past lives

I didn’t want to leave

only dry hollow husks

blown reluctant to participate in my one and only treasure.

 

 I lived in a time

when women sat beside me whispering on back porch landing’s

 interrupted by neighbours running down the stairs

 hands wet beneath Danskin purple skirts

she spoke of how in past or future it didn’t matter which

I was her child she the mother

 knowing I would go on to crucifixion

suckled me with saltwater glistening breasts mingling milk

into my hungry hot house mouth.

 

were there ever other places other days,

freedom? confidence?

 a mouth full of meat?

a belief anything was possible?

 

 

 

I stood with someone once at midnight

 not just a time but the place

 a place where midnight born and lives out in each of us.

The place of my mid night?

 sometime in October out there by the water

breath rising in smoke, dew soaked shivering pirate breath kisses

 

 I called you cypress by moon light,

 buccaneer beauty I chose

 there in the place of my own midnight

 you but not you rather the you of what you ever were.

 

 I called you Guinevere by moonlight

 lay down with you there

 in the place of our own midnight

 among cold Halloween coarse grass

surrounded by stolen beer bottles

 a dwindling hedge barely separated from the street.

 

The only promise I ever kept?

 never a mathematician or carpenters’ wife.

I have not even now more years than miles can tell – broken that promise.

 

Sometimes I forget I made it,

sometimes I forget to congratulate myself for not breaking it,

sometimes I try to barter it, threaten to turn my back if somebody doesn’t pretty soon pay me for it.

 

 But I am not the famous rebel, not the muse’s figure head –

quietly steadily I am only the keeper of my own promise

born from misguided Madonna’s introduced by white women to the place of my own midnight

 

I have never stopped; I have never turned back.

 That’s all I have ever really done with all that treasure which was my life.

 no big deal but still, something real. no surrender, no slipping,

no disparity of one who broke the only promise ever truly made.

 

Yes, still writing. Yes, still the poet.

 

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there will be a time when I walk alone no possibility of interruption, no sense of anything but wonder. ready to go anywhere – I will alone step upon a beach of star dust, a twilight evening morning without distractions of any sun rise. Body resembling translucent moons encircled with rings like Jupiter silver oh you know what I mean.

 to walk alone totally alone; the great adventure that. every step a holy ground, every step unknown places beckoning without distraction. the only one around, me walking without reluctance across the universe. And when like some great invisible hand reaches out  cupping me as if my whole body but a sweet lovers cheek, the last eyes I see before I know of eyes no longer? my own reflected back across an endless sky as if in kissing my own self one brief momentary glimpse of the Krishna that is and always has been me.

No longer afraid, narcissism the enduring aspect of the world in the jingle jangle mornings I have followed and loved only you.

 

.

 

 

Mr. Tambourine Man. B. Dylan, Bob Dylan Live 1975. Play it while I die if I die quietly or lingering otherwise at my funeral.

 

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Old freighters ruff, words and photography by pd lyons


Old freighters splocked red with rust

Holds haunted

cagros exotic, mundane, contraband 

list easily into slumber

yet unable to refuse

invincible the call

return once more

unable to refuse relentless the shipping lanes

sometime when i cry, words by pd lyons, photograph by morgan lyons, music by Raveonettes


 

 

Sometime  I will surrender all the hard hear life

Sometime I will understand courage has nothing to do with anger

I will remember your face and smile

I will remember your touch and smile

Allowing just the experience of happiness

Allowing just that experience

Surrendering the need to go further

Staying just for the brief soft moment of love

Not needing the hard heat strength to go beyond

 

Bluez from Hooksongs , words and photograph by pd lyons


 

 

dream away about you

when i wake up in the morning

know my dreams not true

cause when i wake up in the morning

I’m still without you

 

been all around this world

learned a thing or two

but i never learned nothing

help me get over you

 

now sunlight is coming

sit alone in my room

light another cigarette

watch the spirals clear

 

might go to the kitchen

might go out to the street

don’t really make no difference

ain’t no getting away from this

 

I would abandon all other cities for this… poetry & photography by pd lyons


nyc pdlyons

 

I would abandon all other cities for this…

To wake from sleep with little angels

Cross weeping waters 

Opiate lilies

Rolled tobacco porcelain skin

We would talk

 I would give out money, paper money for free

 Answer, because you are sitting on the streets I was born into this world on.

 

I would pass from them like loose wrappers

cobbled stone behind lost mythologies, strangers foreign even to my self

But I could if I want sift sea salt stolen dreams

camera fantastic songs

 long meandering trails to and from the stars siren spiralling

 a better life only in theory because I would give up all other cities for this.

 

To wake from sleep with nameless angels

Cross weeping water smugglers

Beggar a hazy sun dry enough for a nod nod noddy nod.

Soft we would talk knowing no remedy for tomorrow only respite from the past.

rest your head on my shoulder,

safe from all  clatter drift,

from the hard shelters the rough searchers the mingling watery blood sucked ones.

 

I’d tell you stories of cities abandoned long ago

Where warmth was free

Where angels had names

Where heroes would rescue even you.

I would sleep without being asleep,

  your head on my shoulder

I would not move when disentangled from my arms

you pooch my pockets for something worth taking, cash

  let you have it going,

never to call you anything but by your long-ago name

 the one your mother whispered once all sea spray

 hidden away from anyone else but me.

 

sometimes I will find quiet even in the day light

sometimes I will find a way warm into the night

by myself again

there in only gentle ghosts I blend

 my new skin, my confident sway

a sweetness beyond graves

among stars.

 

nyc pdlyons

 

nyc

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Arabin Shan Arabin, as invisible poem by pd lyons to be read out-loud by Susan


 

 

Arabin Shan arabin

Nar nee zapee  Cro no banine

 

Arabin Shan arabin

Din apee lee nar Ma zeen

 

Pu tan pu shee Mi narabin

Nonce or nonce Be tin pa nin

 

Sha arabin Shee narabin

Dalock nay bit

Mom sar sarabin

 

Sha peta peta shay

Noce ne manibe La bay la bay

To shan nat sharabin

Lay sarabin mon ay

Yey noct nee been ta lo una kane

Push sha mono to be

Carpa tin

La carpintine

Mon ax tala bin

Mix sarabin sha sarabin

Sha sha my nosra pata quinpa

 Al nay all tika saw

Shay shay bow desta bow

Shay mi arabin mi arabin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 New Haven


 

 

along marvellous streets

 the girl walks on her toes

sneakers let the ballet peer out with wonder

 

amid this morning garden slipping into the shade

who is it gives you pentagrams

whispers water lily secrets

when your mornings get too heavy?

 

Leaving the Stars behind

I call you flower by moonlight

you call me cypress by spring

I watch you from evening

change grey misty morning

across the spider down day

16 3. 73.

 

 

FIELDS OF CAPRICORN words and photography by pd lyons


 

FIELDS OF CAPRICORN

 

 with ash figures, smudge me.

 with woman oil, mark me.

 from the little lady of the green, offer  water

she who taught me how to drink.

 tonight, with common ancestry

across our knees, we sit.

 with a blade made by my own teeth, cut.

 blood speaks. all deaths are nourishing.

from the little man of the bone tattoo

offer  warm flesh,

he who teaches how to eat –

this is the man time.

 

 

 

What if We Could Meet the World Unwounded? & Demons prose poetry photos by pd lyons


 

What if We Could Meet the World Unwounded?

The inner wounded child haunts us Why? Because we bind it. Our attachments to this child, Desires to relive To ease and protect from all pains past and potential keeps this woundedness froze in time. Locked in. Seeking to replicate past scenarios, attempting a new positive result. But each time the super sensitive ever-woundedness simply fulfils its own prophecy

Can we dissolve that attachment? Can we allow our own courageous awareness to perceive what is true? Can we  let the child be?  Then to joyously go – just the way we wanted to be when we really were that very young?

 

 

Demons –

These are thoughts

I conjure, use

To make me child of wounds

Feel important

Feel real

But how subtle this ensnarement

Creates only an unsolvable past

Layer by layer

A prison of ghosts

Let go Let be

If I let the child go

Now

Just the way we wanted to be when we were young

Blissful free

No need for demons ever again

 

Everyone whoever caused my wounds

Are either dead or so far removed (in time or distance)

Can no longer cause me harm

Neither can I give you,

What you should have had.

I cannot go back and fix the past.

But I can give you freedom now

I can let you go, unchained from an unresolvable past.

Be free be free be free at last

 

And now my anger demon

You’re finally done

This child so faithfully protected  now free,  moves on.

So too may you be.

Thank you for your diligence, your vehemence, your loyalty.

Thank you for your faithful service.

You may go. you may leave. you may enjoy the bliss of freedom.

Be free be free be free at last.

Now that energy once locked into being ever vigilant, ever ready?

available to be new again.

 

And now my arrogance demon

There is no need to be special

No need to sooth this child’s wounding by invulnerability.

You do not need to know or act as if you do know everything.

This child indeed special. This child indeed free.

Relax faithful hero this child who is free needs no protection

Relax valiant healer, willing, wishing saviour

Thank you for your faithful work

be free be free be free at last.

Now that energy once locked into being ever vigilant, ever ready?

available to be new again.

 

 

 

 

from the Hooks Song Project, Expectin’ John Prine – words and photo by pd lyons


Expectin’ John Prine

And if I had whiskey

Then I’d have a drink

And if I had money

I’d get me some sleep

And if I still couldn’t sleep

Then at least I‘d be sittin’

In a place with some heat

 

And there’s nothing like quiet

To make you know you’re alone

Nothing like darkness for seein’

All the things you ain’t done

 

Guess I’m just a man who never growed up

Should’ a known mama weren’t liein’

But somehow I thought it’d work out alright

 I was born for fortune and fame

 

But now people go by with that look in their eye

And I find that I have to agree

Cause there’s nothing more mysterious

Than just how I turned out to be me

 

But maybe you been down yourself

Or maybe you heard a John Prine

There’s some song he does

Not sure anymore how it goes

But it’d make you not mind maybe smile some time

When you come across someone like me

 

And when all someone’s got is lonely

And for sure ain’t no ship comin’ in

It might be a stranger’s smile,

A kindness with out any strings

Means more than my own silly words

Or the comfort that some small change brings

 

And sure I thought it  be different

 The whole world welcome my songs

But I guess at my age

There’s no way to hide

So whether you stare or smile, your words are gentle or snide

I don’t care if you look right through me

As long as you got something to give

I’m grateful for whatever you spare.

 

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