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Category Archives: pdlyons photography
Sometime in this Writing Life – Sitting at the Picnic Table I Made or Rather Assembled, Ruff – by PD Lyons
Jefferson Airplane Volunteers through the windows
Wide open
Cranked up.
Cohiba burning fine.
Smoke drifts fat across a still September
Evening sun cast shadows
Dog tearing up an old sock for fun
skids upon the driveway gravel.
I’m even able to do
smoke rings
while i write
magenta letters
white loose blue line paper
relieved from all misery of updated software.
This, not anything else is
Why.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Volunteers_(Jefferson_Airplane_album)
Sometimes in this Writing Life
Critters fed
Bread in the oven
Kitchen cleaned
REM And I Feel Fine : Best of the IRS Years through out the house
Shelly’s landed safely in Toronto
Dog sleeps in the sun
And so it goes…
pdlyons photography. Topsmead Litchfield Ct.
The People Who Cured Themselves by P D Lyons from As If the Rain Fell In Ordinary Time
Taken from the 2019 erbacce poetry prize winning entry by PD Lyons. It was one of the original entry of four poems. “This one, I am proud to say was influenced by the work of Laurie Anderson & William S. Burroughs.”
The People Who Cured Themselves
the people who had cured themselves
from the virus once called language
communicated eloquently
with their hands
with their arms
with their eyes
with the colour of their skin.
impossible to be misunderstood
they learned of the winds worship of leaves
the way the sun with every shadow enjoyed each day by day
and the height of midnight stars all sparkling –
happy with the moon, longing for its return.
eventually they forgot –
the coarseness of verbal abuse
the trickery of its seduction
the con of its half-truths.
made themselves dwellers on an island
rescuers, healers for those washed up from the deep
unafraid of reinfection they let the long-term healing of their lives
speak for them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The annual erbacce-prize for poetry is open from January 1st to May 1st every year. It is entirely FREE to enter thus it attracts top quality poets world-wide… in 2019 we had close to eight thousand entries and all were judged ‘blind’. P D Lyons was the outright winner! Below is the book we produced for him… it is sheer quality poetry, the whole book encompasses a simplicity coupled with deep insight; a truly beautiful collection which reveals more each time it is re-opened… (perfect-bound: 112pages)
http://erbacce-press.webeden.co.uk/p-d-lyons/4586525519
Through the generous support of Westmeath County Council a limited edition of 50 numbered and signed copies are available to purchase direct from the poet at €20.00 to include standard postage world wide. Please click on the link above to order via PayPal
If We Could Allow Grief by PD Lyons
In the latest issue of Buddhadharma Quarterly I read a beautiful article by Joan Sutherland, Roshi titled Here at the End of the World In it she eloquently and effectively explores our social grief and lack of expression and how it is impacting our response or lack of response regarding the environmental situation. Below is my own attempt to express myself regarding grief and gun violence. While I make no comparison to Roshi Sutherland and my own pale writing I felt I must site her influence. Perhaps from here you’ll seek her out? Here is a direct link to her site and the complete article https://joansutherlanddharmaworks.org/Detailed/186.html
Thank you for reading.
pd Lyons
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If we could allow grief
Our grief to manifest
A school room of 7 year olds
Shot to death
A spring morning
Their families
The responders
The survivors
The shooter
All grief worthy
If we could allow this grief
Wouldn’t we be able then to progress?
Fear of grief
Shielded with anger
Anger stifles, prevents movement, stagnates into polarity, perpetuation of fear.
If we could allow grief
Could we not then allow healing?
this courage, is it not worth daring?
Poetry reading, words and photograhs by pd lyons
Poetry Reading
now that i have discovered
an empty heart
i am ready for anything
now that i have learned the fallacy of power
i am ready for anything
now that i know the only time
i am not alone is delusional
i am free
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
Carlingford words and photos by pd lyons
A pail full of sunshine.
A simple siting breath by the sea.
Children run.
Can happiness ever be too loved?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.
Tide comes
Stronger now
Still rolling
Myriad suns
Upon the silver beakers
The day like the tide
Has turned
Inevitable in its priceless way
But for now a longer linger
Simple sitting
Breathing by the sea
Not waiting for anyone
Carlingford 30.9.17.
26.6.19. nick drake
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.
