Category Archives: not quite tomas

Now On This side Of The Highway , Sometimes I Still Think Of You, by pd lyons

Now on this side of the highway


I spend more time on looking back than anything


Turns I should have took

Places it would have been better if I stopped


Mostly haze as if dust and sun

conspired with fog and dark

salt and grit   steam and slick

But anyway after a million miles or so

I still see you



As if I could convince you one more time

As if you’d still be in that same old town


Maybe you are

Maybe you’re still with that boy who worked the bowling pins

Bluest eyes we either saw

But I didn’t have the time to stay then

 Figure it  out

Did you really   love him

and if so was it more than me


See there were these wide empty spaces

Pulling like fish hooks in my heart

Wanting me in ways I never thought you could have

And now?

Ah there’s a big rig pulling over

Wonder how many miles

Driving straight into this evening sun

He’ll get me



She Would, by pd lyons – floppy version


She Would

turn the armadillo
tickle his stomach with her tongue

black beetle tears swoll
June bugs snap high heels

crickets rip trying on new clothes
caterpillars hum dull dreams of a sex life

through irises and junipers
these she breaths



recently re-discoverd a file untouched since it’s floppy disc days, called “A Work On”. About 50 pages of various state of stuff. As the above indicates the 1980 6’s was a place of intriguing possibility.

Porcelain, by Pd Lyons, Inspired by the music of Helen Jane Long as published by Boyne Berries


cold spills of rain

magpies fly
always searching with the light
always dreaming until dawn
when I wake and think you’re here

coffee on the stove
pale light over the stove
I would often think of you
dark mornings just before dawn
standing in this spot – you’d make mine with hot milk

the pain of coffee much to hot to drink
the ache of winter haunts my hands
when I close my eyes I cannot see you any more

cold and spills of rain
the music porcelain plays again


(Inspired by the music of Helen Jane Long/


as published by Boyne Berries Magazine


Years back I was lucky enough to discover and purchase this Helen Jane Long CD – Porcelain. At one point i was working on this long piece of poetry. The title track of the CD I had set on repeat because it was  evocative of the mood I was working with. Once I was finished with that , I just had to write one dedicated to Helen’s exquisite work. Hope if she every reads it she’d approve.

At some point I sent it to Boyne Berries magazine where they were kind enough to publish it.

after a day of rain, poem by pd lyons

indian pipe @ sleeping giant

Indian Pipe @ sleeping giant

after a day of rain

white flowers

before a young girl

small songs upon the mist


on wendy decorating the new apt, by pd lyons





i dont want to talk to you

maybe show you maybe not

little more to the left but not really so close as all that

morning when the door knocked open

let no one enter without waking me

barefoot naked knife in hand

out the back three flights down

running i almost followed

almost let the dog go


But by then he was gone.


little more to the right but not as close as all that

night arguing about something

and where was the dog

what did he do

the fuckin dog

didnt you really mean

why didnt i do something

equally raging i wanted to know

why didnt you do something

why didnt you make it different

he came back alright

But by then you were gone. 

Paris Signs, Summer Photo Essay part 3, pd lyons

pdlyons pix

pdlyons pix





pdlyons pix

pdlyons pix



pdlyons pix

pdlyons pix

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  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 to 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.



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
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.



(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

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

Once While I Was Away, by pd Lyons

Paris doorway pdlyons photo

You might have come

Expecting awkward greeting won by

Philosophic well planned answers to

What you thought my unasked questions were –

Accidental touch

Silent linger hands

Knowing prelude to a kiss

All it would take to unclench my heart

Inviting you in

So you’d have something to do for the afternoon  DSC_1192


Another one of those young love poems. probably 1980’s. not sure. but reminding me today to something Manhattanish or maybe Paris premonitions?

Paris doorway pdlyons photo

Paris doorway pdlyons photo

Paris doorway pdlyons photo

when he had finished covering you with kisses, by pd lyons

photo by pdlyons

photo by pd lyons

Back in my early horse days when life was mostly pure drama and mad passion – sometimes but not always self preservation would step in –

So one day when he had finished covering you with kisses

not long after you knew he’d be leaving for good

you went out on that flea bit mare

old trails just before the picnic rapids

crossed the shallows

goat trailed it up steep rock ridge

high enough to be free from cob webs and biting bugs

above the serpintine valley

restless the mare

bored with standing argues the bit

pulls the reigns

paws the rocky ground

and for a moment

you think of your own Spanish spurs

and then remember :

“never give your heart to anyone but a horse”

foolish? yes.

but still in the saddle

bend her round your leg for home

– from Lessons on Western Riding by pd lyons

Picture 011

photo by pd lyons

Balreask, by pd lyons

pdlyons photo, artist unknown - paris

pdlyons photo, artist unknown – paris

after 2 years living in Cape Breton we returned to Ireland. for a short while we stayed with Michelle’s family in Balreask, while we sorted out a house of our own. This poem was written then 2004 – I was still a bit high about being in Ireland again. Maeve is , for me the goddess of sovereignty of the land. It was a good morning.



Earliest morning I been up

Since we got here

Out in the garden Qi gong cup of tea

One crow on the aerial above the chimney

Is that you ?

Is that really you Maeve?

Yes you are sleek and shiny really beautiful today.

Tilts her head towards me

As if surprised

Then clucks a few syllables in return.

Can we stay Maeve? Can we make our home here

Well not exactly here but in this country. Are we really coming home?

She leans further towards me, opens and closes her beak, leans closer

then whistles three gutsy in her throat whistles & flies.

The grass needs tending

It just might rain

Beginning is the least I can do


pd lyons photo artist unknown - paris

pd Lyons photo, artist unknown – Paris

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