This Is Where We Should Stay by pd lyons

this is where we should stay

where its peaceful

where i don’t hurt you or myself

where the gold line of morning along the meadows

gives way to silver darkening to grey

and the moment of quiet when rain stops

we try to make up names for

Mira Gut, by pd lyons

Mira Gut

there are no flowers here but snow.
the bay not yet free chunked with ice
the white of which exists only against a distant liquid sea.
at least the sun visits, comforting,
illusion though it is,
visions of thawing, melting down to something green.

in the long sleep of winter I have dreamed
something Spanish that you said along a twilight turquoise
something soft covering sun drenched shoulders
silver threads an old man’s harp played for money by the moon.

 

 

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

 

Was lucky enough to live in Cape Breton for a while. The area Mira Gut was where the river Mira entered the Atlantic. We lived across the street from the ocean. Sometimes we’d walk down to the Mira bridge and fish for mackerel. Some of the most beautiful parts of being there were the winters.  this was probably written on 2003.

 

Because of every year we miss you ~ Two poems and three songs for my Father Donald R Lyons Nov 21. 1925 – Jan 26, 2003.

DAD

The swans out in the field

Their secrets not revealed

Passing into silent flight are they

Perhaps their subtle sigh

Stifles some deeper cry

As they know you’ll be leaving much too soon

Walking down the lane

The filly foals refrain

Their running is the sound of falling rain

Are they restless from the summer?

Or somehow do they know

You’ll not stay to seen them fully grown

By the fairy mounds of old

The pock marked GPO

Cross the Boyne to bang your head on spiral stone

See the wonders down at Fore

And the ancient seat of kings on Tara hill

Now sitting by the fire, music’s playing’ low

Guess I’ll raise a glass or two before I go

Though it’s to an empty chair not your smiling face I stare

(Yet) whenever that door slams I still hope to see you there.

And sitting here I wonder

All those stories finally told

Revealed how in our youth

We were so very much the same

Was it drink that made us bold?

Or did we speak so true

Because somehow, we knew

You’d not be coming back this way again?

Somewhere Still

Somewhere there is still a place, you sitting in the sun, concrete porch paving slabs, Cape Cod Grey picnic table, small summer savages running jumping clinging – immune bare feet impervious to sun. Skin frosted with salt, lotions, cake icing.

Somewhere children still take your hand, invite you to cross the street walk with them down to the beach, taking them sometimes instead to lunch…

Long-time companions, comforts of old age, afternoon naps, books, TV, mail order catalogues, big band music and too those ever-dangerous memories –  love, marriage, a hole never in twenty-three years has time healed.

Somewhere she still takes you by the hand. Ohs your name laughs into the open window, Fifty-five Chevy, summer bright chrome. So close to flying great American V8 highways up through the Canadian border dwindling into heavy Nova Scotia sands.

There has never been an ocean too cold for her to swim in. Long after your retreat to safety – Flamingo towels, Knickerbocker beer, USMC Zippo, Old Gold cigarette spiral prayers. Gratitude at last. Unable to fathom any reason to feel bad about surviving.

Deep breath wonderful (not a god damn palm tree in sight). Watch that woman of the sea; only wish there would never have to be a time to leave.

Later she gets tipsy; acquiescing when the waiter offers to sweeten her drink no knowing here to sweeten means more liquor. Out on the dance floor, hold each other tight as you want because she’s your wife now and you always liked the Mills Brothers.

Sometime after midnight, small cedar room, Stuart tartan blankets, crisp white sheets. Strange night sounds traipsing gingham curtains. As if tiny fingers, she ohs your name. Answer back with words you never knew before.

This spring by the sea your little house will not find you. Gone now perhaps to wander just like W.B. said –

 Glimmering girl once more beside you and pluck

 Till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

(For: D.R.L. –  with regards to W.B. Yeats, his favourite poet.)

Donald Raymond Lyons

Donald Raymond Lyons, 77, of North Shore Blvd., East Sandwich, MA, formerly of Rockledge Dr., Waterbury, passed away peacefully on Sunday, (January 26, 2003) with his family by his side at the Mary F. McCarthy House in Sandwich. He was the husband of the late Flora (Rosano) Lyons. Mr. Lyons was born Nov. 21, 1925 in the Waterville section of Waterbury, son of the late Raymond and Ethel (Pollard) Lyons of Waterville. He graduated from Crosby High School in 1947 and served in the U.S. Marine Corps from 1943 to 1945 during World War II. Mr. Lyons joined the Waterbury Police force in 1953. He was promoted to police sergeant in 1965 and to lieutenant in 1973, retiring in 1984. He loved family gatherings, his books, wine, dancing, lunch dates and his grandchildren. He was a member of B.P.O. Elks Lodge No. 265 and the VFW Mattatuck Post No. 8075. He leaves his devoted family of three sons, Peter D. Lyons of County Cavan, Ireland, Mark J. Lyons of Waterbury, and David M. Lyons of Sagamore, MA; two daughters, Pamela A. Beane of Sandwich, MA and Judy M. Donovan of Plymouth; a loving brother, Raymond “Buddy” Lyons of Waterbury; and 11 grandchildren that adored him. He was predeceased by a sister, Shirley Aparo. The funeral will be held Friday at 8:45 a.m. from the Mulville Funeral Home, 270 West Main St., to St. Francis Xavier Church for a Mass at 9:30 a.m. Burial will be in All Saints Cemetery. Friends may call at the funeral home Thursday from 4-8 p.m. Memorial contributions may be made to the Mary E. McCarthy House, 73 Service Rd., East Sandwich, MA 02537, or to a charity of the donor’s choice. The family wishes to express their sincere appreciation for the love and support given to their father by his longtime companion, Eleanore Bryan of Sandwich, MA.

Published in The Hartford Courant on Jan. 28, 2003

     Will Ye No Come back Again

Found Those Places Left Behind A Kiss ~ by pd lyons

I found those places

Left behind

Ghost crumb tailings

Shadow sounds soft upon a poplar breeze

Freshwater landmarks unnoticed by untrained eyes

Feral flailing Exuberant heart

Unbridled moon lighting our delinquent ways

What would we ask each other

What would we tell

Or would we, beyond all good fortune

give up these years of fumbling words

Find the only thing our mouths were ever good for

.

birthday note on turning 60 by pd lyons (and now I’m 67 and feeling pretty much the same. How cool is that?) with photos

1974

the old fellow near the sea

today ends my fifth decade. to morrow i will be 60.

the sixth decade begins at 5:54 am

bringer of the new dawn

 ever aging scorpion.

sometimes i think it has not happened

sometimes when i think of that certain little boy

i still get tears.

sometimes when i think back,

teenage, marriages, children, lovers, others –

reminding myself  of the good and of the not so very good –

reminding myself that I really  did the best I could.

but you know i am the luckiest man i know.

i have ended up in a country foreign to my birth

with a family of my own…

i  think i am in the best health ever.

no smoking for over 15 years

steady yoga meditation

and always did and still do love to walk –

there are miles of my life upon

mountains, shores, countries, continents

and  along those meandering pathways between the worlds.

and while i know all things come to an end –

as of right now i have not!

how cool is that?

cheers

.

photographer unknown

How Like Dreams Now the Days Too Fade, by pd Lyons. Re: Ethel Pollard Lyons Thanks to Donna J Snyder for telling me

Last night I had a dream about you.

Nothing major.

We just met face to face.

You were telling me about my grandmother.

We were outside in the sand.

I was surprised you knew her.

I  never knew she went to Mexico.

It was hot.

We sat down at a rough grey whiskery  table.

Yes, you said and she rode very well.

A bright grey horse among the caballeros.
“And tequila ?” I leaned towards you tete-a-tete  ” What about  the tequila…?”

But the scraping sound of speeding traffic brought me into this morning.

And I wondered Why Mexico?

I was always a bit afraid of Mexico –

Suddenly Last Summer

We don’t need no stinking badges,

Maryse Holder Give Sorrow words,

Comacheros,

Decapitations decorating the highways…

But when I was a kid –

Zorro.

Bands of silver trumpeters.

Hat dancing.

Cielito Lindo.

raw silver jewellery, grumpy looking straw cowboys, hand bags made of alligator,

those souvenirs sent to my mother from her favorite uncle, 

United States Army Air Forces navigator.

And why you?

I had called you Jan.

You had written to me about my own work.

I had admired yours, especially the Creation Myths,

Hoped someday you’d do an audio version.

How like dreams now,
the days too
fade.

 

Re: Ethel Pollard Lyons Thanks to Donna J Snyder for telling me

 

How The Green Witch Loved The Winter Man by pd lyons

How The Green Witch Loved The Winter Man

When the green Witch met the Winter Man he was obsessed with another woman. He said to her, “This is the way. All I ever love retreats from me. Trees drop their leaves, water shrinks dares not move. The earth herself covers and hides. In all my travels all my searching all I’ve found was this woman of the wind. She stirs me, promises she will someday stand still in my embrace, then she flies… But, tell me about you. Who are you that comes to meet the Winter Man?”

With this invitation the Green Witch stretched out her arms so he could see and said, “I am keeper and protector of all that grows – herb and flower, fruit and tree, bringer of peace and healing. I am of the magic of each seedling poking through the soil and too the mighty dragon tree which yields not to raging wind nor sharpened steel. I am of the sparkling dew suspended on a spiders web and too the raging river which cuts earth to the bone. I am of the glowing flames nourishing those dancers calling down the goddess and the god, as well as those ancient fires melting mountains into new land…”

“I know these things of which you speak. Bent my finger to assist your sprouting seed only it did not grow but rather withered, covered your dragon tree to protect it but only did its branches crack. From black fingered shadows I have watched dancers of your fire and caught up in their excitement sought to join but with my approach they slunk away until even the fires glow had gone to grey. And yes I have heard of such things as these spiders webs… But I am the Deep Winter Man! I am no where near autumn nor almost spring. There is nothing green can stand with me! And that is why I can only pursue this woman of the wind and there are times she is so… I’m sure she must be all there is.”

Then the Green Witch said, “What if I could give you this? A gift of green, something green to stand with you, even let your arms around, never shrink from your embrace?”

“You are the Green Witch, of this I do agree but either you mock me or do not understand! I am the Winter Man. With me even the sun unwillingly treads preferring not to come at all. Creatures of the earth can lose their lives to me with but a single breath. All that lives in my presence does so because of my restraint, because I resist my desire. But there are times when I give in and touch and for a few moments feel.
Even you. how long would you, even with all your power stay green in my embrace?”

Then the little woman turned to him, eyes not flinching from his own and answered with but one word, “Ever”.

1990’s

Disappearing Behind Me Into Sky, by pd lyons : for Tedra

Disappearing Behind Me Into Sky

shadow of crows
from the tree
disappears behind me to the sky
she had crystals hanging in nearly every window of the house
purified energy – coming in, going out
Mystic Connecticut, the town not the sea port
she bought me one for my car
that little shop just by the draw bridge
had it for years, hung from the rear view mirror one car to another to another

I’ve no idea where it is now though
or how I came to part with it
disappeared maybe it’s with that lock of her hair she gave me?
actually a braid cut from her first hair cut
when she was… maybe late twenty’s
Called me a stupid jerk when she found out I’d lost it

Another shadow; like crows, like Connecticut, like herself
disappears behind me to the sky

for tedra

Killer – ain’t never been no king

Killer

rock n roll
kick ass not fade away

they were so afraid of you
they blamed it all on Elvis

rock n roll
kick ass not fade away

somewhere there’s the killer
ain’t never been no fuckin’ king

soft girls
hard liquor
get ‘em movin’
get ‘em dancin’

wherever you are
somewhere in that pure American night
hope you’re bangin’ a piano
hope you’re ready for a fight

( for jerry lee – who else?)

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jerry_Lee_Lewis

Jerry Lee Lewis (born September 29, 1935) is an American rock and roll and country music singer-songwriter and pianist. He is known by the nickname “The Killer” and is often viewed as “rock & roll’s first great wild man” – re: wikipedia

 

 

 

i love rock n roll

Blonde In The Bleachers by Joni Mitchell from For The Roses

just joey and buddha

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0TovZvWiE2g

Blonde In The Bleachers
by Joni Mitchell

The blonde in the bleachers
She flips her hair for you
Above the loudspeakers
You start to fall
She follows you home
But you miss living alone
You can still hear sweet mysteries
Calling you
The bands and the roadies
Lovin’ ’em and leavin’ ’em
It’s pleasure to try ’em
It’s trouble to keep ’em

‘Cause it seems like you’ve gotta give up
Such a piece of your soul
When you give up the chase

Feeling it hot and cold
You’re in rock ‘n’ roll
It’s the nature of the race
It’s the unknown child
So sweet and wild
It’s youth
It’s too good to waste

She tapes her regrets
To the microphone stand
She says “You can’t hold the hand
Of a rock ‘n’ roll man
Very long
Or count on your plans
With a rock ‘n’ roll man
Very long
Compete with the fans
For your rock ‘n’ roll man
For very long
The girls and the bands
And the rock ‘n’ roll man”
© Joni Mitchell

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0TovZvWiE2g

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BaAi7VP71ck

i love rock n roll*

*unknown photographer