Notice All the Silence That You’ve Left Behind, by pd lyons

Notice All the Silence That You’ve Left Behind

No matter how hard I wait
the rain doesn’t stop any sooner
no matter if I focus on streaming glass
or distant green as it meets the still bare tree line
no not even if I stare at the little pile of shit the neighbour’s dog left slowly steadily dissolving in the gravel

Couldn’t I just stand here all day?
Instead, get dressed
yoga later or not at all

There is a softness allowed by the absence of anxiety
a nonchalant free from worry over what to do
when after all there’s nothing –
Things will remind me, no matter what I choose

and tears a lot like rain seem never to stop
until they do and then they don’t again

~~~~~~~~~~

I go out, with the basket for wood
feed the fire started in the dark morning hours
ash and blackthorn limbs

and like the rain
and like the tears
that fire keeps my eyes busy
for a while

until some distraction
like my bladder
like my stomach
or the postman with some useless package
unable to fit the inadequate mail slot of my front door

moves me
onward

 

I am dead already by pd lyons

red glass bowl w/ Holland tomatoes on a black slate on a green table

I am dead already

~ So

there is nothing really to worry about

~ Although sometimes i still forget

think of myself as living

things to do

places to go

achievement’s to achieve

people to please and all

eventually i come around

focus by saying

” you don’t have to”

usually that’s enough to brig me back to what is

~ Other times,

especially if i have forgotten for maybe days,

years, occasionally decades

it takes stuff a little stronger not much though, you know

just say out loud to my so called self;

“you are already dead “

 helps me relax

brigs me round to that expansive place of what is

a pleasant space of truth

red bowl glass

survival tips for this modern age or True No Worries by pd lyons

Pdlyons's Explorations

true no worries by pd lyons

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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