Category Archives: irish american poetry

Title Piece from newest release


WORSHIP SWANS NO LONGER

When you worship swans no longer

Will you find your way to me?

Smoke rising in a breathless voice

Winding between shade and sun

 A dream begun on dew drops

  Daring midday like a ghost

Vowing never to fly

From your embrace

Special First Edition Limited to 150: each numbered and signed by the poet.

Price includes worldwide shipping by regular post in padded envelope.

20.00 dollars US /15 euros Ireland /20 euros rest of Europe /15 UK sterling

Items shipped upon receipt of order (purchase through Paypal)

Contact: pdlyonspoet@yahoo.co.uk

With your shipping information and any queries.

Additional inscription on request.

(Numbered books selected randomly)

“PD Lyons work stands at the threshold so loved in Ireland. That almost magical, almost mythical, almost otherworldly parallel that the Irish dip in and out of. Where we chose to believe in luck and superstition and destiny and embrace these as tangible factors in our daily lives. – from the forward by Una O’Neill D’Arcy, Journalist/Freelance Writer

Thank you in advance for supporting this project!

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Exciting Announcement!


 

When You Worship Swans No Longer: Poetry by

by P D Lyons

Poetry inspired by the village of Fore County Westmeath and surrounding areas of Ireland, by an Irish American poet.

 

Special First Edition Limited to 150: each numbered and signed by the poet.

 

Price includes worldwide shipping by regular post in padded envelope.

20.00 dollars US/15 euros Ireland/20 euros rest of Europe/15. sterling

Items shipped upon receipt of order (purchase through Paypal)

Contact: pdlyonspoet@yahoo.co.uk

With your shipping information and any queries.

Additional inscription on request.

(Numbered books selected randomly)

,

Thank you in advance for supporting this project!

 

 

love poem by pd lyons inspired by the meeting on the turret stairs


National gallery of Ireland – Hellelil and Hildebrand, the Meeting on the Turret Stairs by Frederic William Burton

 

I know now

These cold stones

Lead up and down

to nowhere

 

I know now

These shadows

Indeed empty

Conceal not

your warm embrace

 

I know now

How little all else matters

Such as duty bound

or destiny

 

I know now

A love enduring

Having lost all

Is left with needing not.

 

When last my love we met here

Your strong arms to hold me

Barley room to turn my tears away

 

The kiss you stole

The kiss I gave

 

Only empty shadows now

Will meet me here upon the turret stairs

she could have told you


if you had asked

she could have told you,

because her bones ached

because her joints crack

because the balance on her feet was swimmingly

the weight of the planet on her eyelids

but probably not

even if you had

because there’s nothing to be done

because there’s nothing to be done

but wait

and meanwhile deal with  another fight

 

 

six poems by pd Lyons recently rejected by kettle blue review


Love Poem for R.B.

 

Today I heard on the radio that Richard Brautigan

Killed himself last fall.

Then some girl who was 17 in 1970 read his Love Poem.

She said that her then lover was a DJ on a college

Station and had dedicated a recording of the poem

To her, over the air, before he disappeared in a

Californian direction.

 

Anyway, I don’t know where I was.

Maybe I was washing clothes or asleep.

Maybe I was with Jenny or Eva or somebody.

I could a been drunk, or depressed

As if by some sort of intuition.

All I really know is that I’ll never know where I was

When he did it.

 

I wonder how he did it.

Maybe I should go down to the library look him

Up on the newspaper micro-film file?

Most likely I won’t though, the library is closed now

And I’m not sure I care that much anyway.

Besides it’s one of those details I’m sure will

Accidentally find its way to me.

 

It kinda pisses me off that he did it, I mean he

Wrote that Watermelon Sugar book, I read it years ago

When Mary gave it to me and I, 15 in 1970.

Watermelon Sugar and Mary my first lover go good together.

I don’t know about this suicide stuff though.

But maybe it’s nice not having to wake up alone with yourself

 

When you just don’t want to any more.

 

6/6/85

 

 

the sea made her way

 

 

sneaking up river

daring an overland short cut

crossed the lake

a hitched ride over the high land

where the old man sat

back against white stucco

smoking a Cuban cigar

 

right away she began;

whispered

rolling waves

sounds of silver birds

stars like diamonds

pure black

as if travelling among them there would never be another horizon

 

behind his eyes the old man smiled

o ribbons of smoke

barely audible ahh

 

at which she paused

looked

saw

him as he now was

and knew all she could do was to return from whence she came

never to kiss his pale grey eyes again

 

She Would

 

turn the armadillo

tickle his stomach with her tongue

 

black beetle tears swell

June bugs high heel snaps

crickets rip trying on new clothes

caterpillars hum dull dreams of a sex life

 

through irises and junipers

these she breaths

 

on her toes

sneakers let the ballet

peer out with wonder

along these New Haven streets

amid this morning

slipping into the haze

 

who is it

whispered water lily secrets

when your mornings got too heavy?

 

leaving the Stars behind

called you flower by moonlight

called you cypress by spring

watched you from the evening change

grey misty morning across the spider down day

 

the old man I have sat with

 

the old man I have sat with

anarchist veteran

wars wound down across an age of cigarettes

jokes spun in and out upon the swirl of pastis and water

croissants and coffee through to charcuterie

against the warm summer stones of Montesquieu

old man and me, our laughter.

to not ever be forgotten,

our fear.

 

 

Mogambo

 

in the back yards of the moon

mountains ever silk with smoke

a cigarette a champagne

a dress for dinner

as if we would ever

be back

the only true things

ghosts unable to sleep

unable to abide this weight of age and flesh

 

princesses and big cats

a woman afraid of her own jungle

hunter of the caged

a man afraid of mortality

how could our hungers meet?

how could our true nature reveal,

those ghosts we fear so much

are all the spirit we could have been.

all we traded away so cheap.

 

in the obligations of our evenings

in the entitlement of our heritage

sweat black the spear singers

sweat black the towel holders

as if the pale god held sway

without the guns of our own steel,

without the cripple nature of our own fears

we could never make our way a way

 

Bigger Than the Sky If a Star Was Your Eye

 

Without sadness there can be no kindness.

Depression while it may be unkind

Is not a kind of sadness.

 

Someday children learn:

Daddies don’t know everything

Daddies aren’t always there

Daddies cannot protect in an omnipotent way

And on top of that neither can mommy.

Not even if we are believed to be gods.

 

I have lived in houses of the dead.

Those who died before my age

Those who lived to be a hundred a hundred years ago.

Someday these stairs I sweep will still be here

And I will not be anywhere.

Someday all those I ever knew and who knew me,

No matter how intimately; will be no more.

Not even forgotten because there will be none

Whoever even knew them or us or me.

 

My daughter age 7 asks “What happens when you die daddy?”

“What really happens after you die dad?”

 

Am I afraid of death?

Afraid of not being me anymore?

Am I afraid of life?

Afraid of not knowing answers

Growing old?

Forgetting?

 

My daughter loves the sea

we don’t live near it

sometimes get to visit

dancing in and out the surf

Up and down the Dogs Bay regardless of the weather.

 

My son now in his thirties

hardly ever leaves his house

the one he bought from my father’s estate

The house me and the siblings grew up in

Some I argued with, so he could live there

Like his grandpa said.

 

And maybe it’s not so bad to forget?

be free of history

be new

make space for right now

stop so much looking back.

 

and maybe it can be that way with death?

not so bad,

letting go of all this me?

making space for something new?

 

But I’ve a strong ego

Tuff as nails

A Buddha’s nightmare

Veteran of all kinds of wars.

Maybe that’s the equation:

stronger the ego – stronger the fear?

 

I am not the god of my children

too old to fool them with immortality

Anyway, they’re too smart to not perceive

My purely human heart.

 

Love is not an answer but a response.

A response to all those unanswerable questions.

 

Not knowing anything

I love.

The more answers I don’t have?

The more I feel my own true love.

 

So, I tell her –

I don’t know what really happens when we die

But I do know how much I love you ~

 

20 Jan 09

he had watched her soft like snow edited by pd lyons


He had watched her

Soft like snow

Every movement

A steady meticulous tenderness

Touching each part of the world

One particle at a time

Acknowledged gently

Precisely

Irrevocably

 

would i see you there by pd lyons


would i see you there

with your big face smiles

your sense of wonder

your denim styles

you were shy to me

yet you followed me

when I turned around,

until you betrayed by your own laughter

I had no idea

What you would dare.

Oh

But where ever you are now

I cannot say

Whatever you went through I have no clue

Those streets those hometown streets

Once mine

Once yours

I have not returned

I have not ever left

And you not really you

but still the you I used to know

Wouldn’t you be there

If I went back

Your big face smiles

Your denim styles

Your ever wondrous self.

Where else could you really be

Who else could you ever be, to me

When I’m a Ghost I’ll Haunt the Beach w/ My Mother by pd lyons


Tide comes

Stronger now

Still myriad suns

Roll upon the silver breakers

 

Day like the tide

Has turned

Inevitable in it’s

Priceless way

 

But for now lingering

A little longer

Simply sitting in the sun

Breathing by the sea –

Not waiting for anyone

 

When I’m a ghost

I’ll haunt the beach

With my mother

 

The little bay

Where she’d sometimes stand

Looking out over the Atlantic

Imagining

 

I’d tell her its OK

Anyone with that many kids

Would imagine

 

I’d tell her

Everyone’s doing well

Everything worked out pretty much OK

 

The we’d stand

Look out over the sea

Imagining

Forever

 

 

from the Magician’s Hat by pd lyons


Kindness

~

the girl in the high heel boots

wishes she could pull something out of me

that would make her feel better

 

something with a life of its own

something magical

something that might even bite her

before disappearing into her audience

 

but this hat drooled by any rain

hemmed by cough and smoke

hods only the emptiness of my life

 

realizing my face , no slight of hand

she reaches from her pocket

drops something useful so that i can pretend i found it.

 

 

 

c Mogan Lyons 2016

 

dawn found us wishing , by pd lyons


dawn found us wishing we could do something

when that night began to end

so i told you

the only thing i ever prayed for

was that it wouldn’t

 

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