Category Archives: pdlyons photography

from my badlands / words and photographs by pd lyons


along the north sea port

join a Virgil woman

guiding darker underground

 beneath the cities of men

 

up for air

 

ice hung with our breath

long wrapped woollens

nestling steel in our pockets

heated by such as our own mortal blood

behind the drapes

through the doors

 company of sailors whores and other stranded strangers

ritual of smoke

purification of rum

dreams spoke of southerner seas

twined with stories of the ice

phantomed like Frankenstein and Winnetou

every one of us a mythology onto ourselves and each other.

what you we do but cling?

what could we do but put our breathing mouths together?

labyrinth

tongues

underworld

archetype

alive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sister Stones, poetry and photograph by pd lyons


Sister Stones

Today I brought her stones,
sister stones
white round found together on the beach

Not the waxy white,
not glassy grey,
but almost opal

Round

Alike

Together

brought to her still wet
from my having sucked their salt

Entering Us through Breath poetry and photography by pd lyons


Entering Us through Breath

I couldn’t tell you which was man or which was woman
Or how they met their end.
I couldn’t see where one began, another ended
Or begin to guess how many.
But I can tell you this for sure:
They had never taken to the ground,
No matter how much heaped upon them,
They are always now, creatures of the air.

 

 

 

 

With Alessandra


With Alessandra

          ~

time travels softly

across the river

sun pours

volcanoes of night

suck away the day

ghosts rise hungry

clean olive scented bones

in another sleepless night

                                                                                 along this land of green dreams

 

 

 

L’ Amazanial & Opportune by pd lyons


paris

L’ Amazanial

Rue Sainte Opportune

&

So

We Did

 

paris

paris

In Death if Dreams Be loved


he had stayed away before

afraid of his own dreams

now 5:30 in the a.m.

she had come to him

so real he cursed god

 

wept into the kitchen

cursing god again

once more when sleep had took him

with out words she came

sat with him on deep scorch-less grass

head to head

dark her eyes kept him breathless

until once more was gone

who is it knows the story is a story by pd lyons


   I come from a story

first told by my mother and my father

then friends siblings schools streets woodlands lovers enemies partners children

only now the story somewhat long do i consider –

who is it knows the story is a story

where is that part of me?

and is that the same part that has always filled

the empty space between the lines

with poetry.

 

25.April.2019

 

william

never mind the other guy


never mind the other guy.

you need to ask yourself – what am i going to do to make the world a better place?

sit around and wait til i have a billion dollars or…

the body has its own karma –


THE BODY HAS ITS OWN KARMA

paris by pd lyons

draped in white your invisible hands , poem and photography by pd lyons


 

 

 

~

went down by the house you used to live in

all the windows had the same curtains

the one where your bedroom was was open

for a moment

draped in white

your invisible hands

wave

~

 

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