Category Archives: irish american poetry

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.

Acid Love by PD Lyons


 

312805122_10220669210495316_3654853858480463948_n

 

Acid Love (for East Mountain)
Faces melt
Stream away
There is no ground
Once where midnight was the ocean
Scattered stars the shore
Pearls of street lights held by cosmic hands
Lit up our wide black mirror eyes
We knew then in our own single breath way
All was liquid
And with our hands on one another’s heart
Knew we knew each other before the time of
Light & dark.
27.10.22. Pd Lyons 

1st draft Sunday Morning in the City of Pandemica ~ by P D Lyons


written on first time back in Dublin since Feb (pandemic protocols initiated in March) on a early Sunday morning in September as i stood out from the hotel. now as of this last week of September the city is once again on restrictions.

PS for those who might not know – the Luas mentioned in the piece is a public transport akin to an above ground subway.

 

 

Here is the print ~

Sunday Morning early in the City of Pandemica

   First of all

It was a Sunday morning

In the city early

   Sunday morning early

In the city of Pandemica

   Grey Sunday early on the sidewalks of the city of Pandemica

Cool collage

Damp cool collage breezes empty streets

Unmasked sounds

Cellophane, gull,s fop fop fop

 soft shoe vague woman eyes on her own toes walks by

   What’s the time? hey buddy? hey ya got the time?

A voice of an old fella didn’t even notice at first

Too busy in my own head in my own notebook

Hey ya got any cigarette papers?

All I could say to the only one who noticed me was, No

   They took my phone and all the photos of my kids

Cost me 15 euros to get them printed

Sorry but I need a shower, so I won’t get too close

But they keep sending me down to the quays and all they want to do down there is fight

I’m 47 and I don’t want to fight any more  you know?

Any way got to go.  Good luck. God bless.by

And he got onto the Luas

 

You might love the blue sky

And I the shapes clouds make

So maybe we remember

Without clouds the sky would be alone

Without sky the clouds have no home

Sometimes it takes a mask to reveal ourselves

 

Dublin 2020

from Poems Found in Boxes by pd lyons


Lyrics

I’m a back street rambler

Got no place to go

My lovers are crazy

My money is low

And it’s a slow death

I’m waiting for

A slow death I’m praying for

Got no gifts to offer

No money no dope

All I gots my love

And they say it aint right

Its long night I’m going into

A long night I’m going through

My mirrors are many

My insights are few

no tears left to cleanse me

Got nothing for you

So, I’m two feet for the highway

Two feet for the road

Don’t know what’ll happen but I hope it goes slow.

I would abandon all other cities for this… The reading by pd lyons


 

 

First Day of Spring, by pd Lyons. As published by Shift Lit – Derry


 

First Day of Spring

my daughter asks me
why did people invent war?
don’t they know it’s the devil not god that likes war?
do children have to fight?
do they kill children too?
boys, and girls?
how old are the children?
why don’t the soldiers just quit?

and then the sound of helicopter passing
she thinks it wondrous dashes off to look

and for all those for whom that sound is terror?

because of them
we must love the world
all the more

 

Published in Shift #4 Revoution Issue:

http://www.facebook.com/SHIFT-Lit-Derry

photo by shift lit derry

photo by shift lit derry

Reading from As If The Rain /themes ~ German short hair pointer, Victorian, Great Dane, Parrot, Manhattan Monochrome Cool.


the poet pd lyons reading from the erbacce – poetry prize winner 2019 As If The Rain Fell In Ordinary Time.

on todays menu

~

For Molly

When I Lived on West Main

Jenny

themes ~ German short hair pointer, Victorian, Great Dane, Parrot, Manhattan Monochrome cool.

thanks for joining in.

cheers

GLB

!

Not What the Poem Means & Without Sorrow There Cannot Be Kindness by PD Lyons (with pics)


halfSizeQuarterQUal19820502-2

not what the poem means

but how

how it makes you feel think react

when you bring your self to it

*

the tapestry is not thread by thread examined

but rather thread by thread combined~

if you see each thread you miss the tapestry

*

 study each brush stroke you miss the art work

forest for the trees ~

take it all in

take a big swig

not to figure it out 

but

to see what happens.

*

where are you singing

where are you dancing

tonite open spaces of my heart

in memory together and apart

children take us by the hand

sun across some foreign shore

where life is only looking back

trading places with the dark

wisdom drawn like silver

without sticks without books without roots

unspeakable nite this time

I will not medicate I will not dogma

I will wide open in the dark.

Without sorrow there cannot be kindness.

dsc_4025

 

photo by shelly 2019

We Had Our own Penises Then, poetry by PD Lyons


We Had Our own Penises Then

Taught them tricks

Sit up

Stay

Beg

Roll over

Play dead

 

Got them to fetch

 Escort us on the lead

Not mess in the house

Be careful how they peed

 

And whenever we wanted

We’d change them.

Start again with new ones –

Tricks

Treats

Training

 

Sometimes they’d fall in love with us

Break their own little hearts

But our love?

Only meant for each other

Was not that kind.

only august, by pd lyons


ONLY AUGUST

crows

almost quiet

only feather sounds

rising

almost still

only slow

steady beating

as if horses

finally

taught themselves

to march in order

across the field

almost green

only smoky

spiral dust

descending

mirage

as if insects

finally

taught themselves

to sing

like falling rain

across the mid day

almost yawning

only August

10462583_10202410878608430_3134809123658343932_n

%d bloggers like this: