Category Archives: pdlyons photography

in those open spaces of the heart, by pd lyons


 

Where can i always meet you?

where can we always be alone?

 

those open spaces

shadow lives

summers linger

all  ghosts laugh

 

weeping is for beauty

sweet and savory.

all pain, in remedy

honey tipped restored.

 

where i always meet you

in those open spaces of the heart

 

 

 

 

The Great God Pan Is Dead by pd lyons


 

photographer unknown

 

Within the pages of illusion,

Before the glass of no reflection,

The sensuous form of her adoration,

(White on blonde)

Rises to the occasion of the

Mysterious relation between,

The pale worship of a

Vanishing god and the blue

Whispers of her blood.

As fevered as silk in cedar,

Fanatical as dew dipped spider webs;

She’s come and gone.

Her absence heavy in the spicy

Dust of death, where her foot steps

Spell out the haunting word

Amen

 

1987

truth of youth


stronger

sleeker

smarter

better

wet ourselves at the sight of each other

remembered a dream i had last night by pd lyons


 

someone i didn’t know had come to the front door

 told me you were looking for me

on horses we used to own

i couldn’t believe my luck

went to meet you

took those trails we used to take

certain that’s the way you’d come

raced the river

edged the narrow ridge

ducked low hung branches

even found

the old red barn

the wild turkey barn

the shelter from the rain barn

surprised  after all these years-

it hadn’t changed at all

 

 

poems and photos by pd lyons published by clockwise cat issue 36 “Skullwise Cat”


https://www.yumpu.com/en/document/view/56836339/skullwise-cat

 

scorpion night

THE NIGHT MARES

Restless

In a still night

No moon softening

Sharp stars

No cloud drapery.

Against this midnight

The night mares move

Sharing colour with the darkness.

What cannot find them is found by them,

There are no ways secret:

Spiraling stars leave every sky familiar,

Foraging herds by trails of green weeds

Breach every underwater sanctuary.

The night mares

Sleep standing up;

Contain any stallion,

Give birth in the middle of any weather,

Can knock bones, eyes, or internal organs out of any creature.

Simply by their passing

Men have been sucked breathless.

The night mares

Know where dragons come from,

And who, mothered by seas and singing desert sands,

The twin birthed are.

In languages that the thunder knows,

They answer one another.

Navigating easily unbridled,

No boundary deludes them.

Yielding, the only response they know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

this first appeared in print in Searches For Magic Lapwing Press Belfast

 

 

 

How Long My Unfitting Skin, The Night

 

she had come down from Gunnison

it had been a hard ride

thin air refusing to support her

old shoes needing to be thrown away as soon as possible

~

met for drinks at The Last Chance

she told me brief stories 

life in the wilderness

ways of ghosts and proud flesh

we booked a room from the man who wore a star

~

make believe log cabin

steel spring mattress

Jim Beam on the bed side

we smoked silent shapes up at an invisible ceiling in the dark

I was happy to be there 

thought she was too

~

but somewhere after moon light

she had gotten up

kneeling by the drifty window

to whatever she prayed

all i could make out was –

 

How long my own unfitting skin the night?

 

 

thank you clockwise cat!

Shirley: Back Story As Told To Bella, part one by pd lyons


 

 

 

IMG_20160412_234800

10 days maybe a few weeks   after my capture? housed with the other prisoners from various units. not many of us 12? 15?  my luck had held. our captors did not know I was not the young boy they thought me.

it was not pleasant but nothing torturous. we were fed crap food, slept on hard earth floor, not many blankets n such. we might have been shoved on occasion, but mostly they mocked us, jeered us in broken language

So now observers have you enjoyed your trip?

Did you see what you wanted?

Don’t worry we still have sights for you don’t we …

and they would laugh.

eventually the tempo seemed to increase, the shoves turned to occasional slaps or spitting or tripping or a kick. I was lucky enough to be nimble but was more uncomfortable with the rough seduction attention paid to me –

beautiful boy, fine young fellow,

remarks about the smoothness of my skin –

that made me feel ill.

one morning earlier than usual, the sun rise hardly bringing colour to the sky, we were roughly called to attention.

Marched out one by one single file

For a moment I thought, this is it. But out in the yards well covered by the weapons of our guards we were each handed a dirt shovel herded up onto the flat bed of a truck.

we were driven a for miles

the country side

old pasture ground

circled by woodland.

we disembarked, well aware of much activity around us.

other trucks

soldiers

some in uniform

some not

all with weapons and belts of ammo.

we were told –

now observers you will see.

come on move.

we were brought to where there were great slopes of fresh dug earth

equally mounds of whitish sand or maybe powder,

past which a long ditch.

my stomach churned

I knew this was death.

other trucks covered in canvas arrived. stopping in the distance. Backed toward our direction. Some of the men form lines parallel to each other at the backs of the trucks. Others I’d say about 20 stood nearer the pit by us. Then the back of truck was opened. Men women children pushed dragged thrown –

beaten between the lines of waiting men

run you fuckers! run!

clothes grabbed torn, some naked by the time they were lined up in small groups. Then facing the ditch

immediately shot by the soldiers who had been waiting near to us.

a whole truck load maybe 30 maybe 40 done like that.

now observers something to see yeah.

now shovel! shovel! or you next.

we were to shovel layer of white then layer of earth. my group on one end another group at other end.

once done another truck was emptied. beaten naked people shot . again we’d shovel. I had been trained to be a soldier; I had been trained to kill in official and non-official capacity but this…

I could not breath I could not think.

scorpion night 9 pd lyons

scorpion night 9 pd lyons

I am dead already by pd lyons


red glass bowl w/ holland tomatoes on a black slate

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

red bowl glass

Learning To Be Friends With The Rain


 

c Mogan Lyons 2016

c Mogan Lyons 2016

~

if i put each of these days

end to end

how many times around the world

would they go?

~

no matter what

yes

the only choice

~

living in the peace

so many would die for

i walk the dogs

 old growth

cross clear brooks

splash for drinks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

sometimes this sense of failure

is all I’ll ever be

sometimes that loneliness

is all I’ll ever see

~

it’s the price for being true

it’s the cost of no surrender

the double helixed blessing

of being me

~

maybe tomorrow

the courage will come

all that ever was –

undone

CSC_2217

she thought they would be safe, from Bella and Shirley by pd lyons


CSC_2219

– she thought they would be safe.

told them that they were supporters, that her older son

was in their army.

sure they said and shoved her, sure then we’ll be gentle.

her youngest son they shot for coming to her aid.

they tied her to the bed post while they did things to her daughter.

then they shot the daughter to death as well.

when we found her she had torn her wrists bloody trying to get free.

She says:

These are not my hands

They do not belong to me.

These are the hands that did not save my children.

She begs us to chop them off

We have to always have someone with her otherwise she tears off the bandages with her teeth.

 

The woman would speak only in whispers and leaned into Tilkon

– Oh Tilkon said, ah she wants to give you something

meaning Shirley

 

The woman reached into a canvass bag she’d carried slung across her chest

fumbling, needed help

one of the younger girls who had been her watcher assisted

whispering

– are you sure? asked the girl

and the woman nodded

so she handed Shirley the news paper wrapped object.

– it is a shirt . the girl explained. it was for her son.

more whispers

– she thinks it will fit you said the girl,

she wants you to have it.

she made it for her son.

she says yours has too much blood.

Shirley opens the packages.

– thank you she says, thank you for this kindness. gives it to me to hold while she pulls off her bloodied old shirt and puts on the new denim blue carefully fastening each riveted button.

 

Before we can do anything else the woman, fumbles in the bag again

– Wait she says wait she says out loud in her own voice.

shes pulled out a photograph. rushes up to Shirley

– Here she says her this is my boy, my son, my only child. look

he is not like them

he is no animal

please if you see him

please do not kill him

please his mother loves him tell him

please he is a good boy he would never do such things she waves her arms

across the dead woman across the tied and dying naked man…

 

Shirley takes the photo

– yes i will remember him. i will promise.

shows me the photo as well

– yes i say, yes i too will promise.

 

– take the picture back. Shirley says. We will remember, we wont forget.

the woman smiles,

– I know she says . I know.

wipes the tears from her face with her bandaged wrists, turns away comforted by the young girl .

 

 

heading to the lady camp from Bella & Shirley by pd lyons


(lady camp)

up in the highlands. a small camp once used by shepherds. there was a clean water source and not much more when we started but now? three small cabins, latrines, cooking fires. Do you now there is a way to make a smokeless fire?

really! i said.

they help each other. whatever one knows is what one does. and for those who didn’t know much, look outs were always needed besides a mind sharpened by the promise of safety and food learns quick. there are even a few men. good men. not always someone’s relation but men who had helped or tried to help. men who had proven themselves. one fellow was an expert with  noiseless ways of trapping animals. there are also some very good fisher ladies she laughed. we live like savages but honest savages. there are things to eat from the wilderness. there are people who can listen to any story and be your sister when you’re done. For the most part we get on . Even the men seem able to keep themselves in line. word gets around and she nodded towards the screaming fellow. there is a vow of no romance until this madness ends.

– you think it will? end? asks Shirley

– I don’t know she answers even lower. But if we don’t conduct ourselves like it will, then we’ll just tear and be torn apart .

Why don’t you come? We should leave soon I’m thinking. You should see the place.

– I’m not sure said Shirley, looking over to me surprisingly demure …We do have business.

– Business?

– You know, things to do.

– Yes she said I know. I know the things you do. It is a business that needs doing. But what we do is good too. Besides there will still be plenty for you to do when you leave us.

you’ll be surprised by how many of our ladies you might know…. I can tell you there are many who’ll never forget you. Anyway I’ll promise to have someone show you, how to make that smokeless fire.

night wood

night wood

(So We Went)

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