Category Archives: ruff

This Writing Tongue by pd lyons


nebulous shapes

so no random design

altering this world

parchment tattooed

often at pain

rightfully feared by those righteous  

   like twin fishes 

   one dark one fair

   sucker mouths

   big eyes blue brown bulging

   almost touching glistening lashes

   gladly met a sea of humanity

   gladly back joining in their bed

   drown in their ocean

 

he stood with wailing tempest, pd lyons


he stood with wailing tempest

against the unjust world
as if a howling protest
could bring insanity to sense

he thought the problem
was they couldn’t
he saw how clearly
that they could
his heart broke by their simple truth
not couldn’t but wouldn’t

Bagdad Dove

The enemy you love song by pd lyons


I really want to be with you

be with you

be with you

I really want to be with you when we’re OK

 

But on these other days

other days

other days & nights

But on these others times

I just don’t know what to say

 

I’m just the enemy

enemy

enemy

I’m just the enemy

the enemy you love

and so it goes… by pd lyons (re edited and re dedicated to the supreme court of merika)


In My Country

Women walk on eggshells

The way they dress is a rapist’s defence strategy

Their silence confers consent

Their bodies always up for grabs

In every way

There is no privacy especially of the womb

They may be legally and religiously sacrificed on the altar of boys-will-be-boys

They may be murdered at will

But have dubious right to self defence

They are not heard

They are not believed

They are not counted

Their labour not valued

That they are

Our mothers

Our sisters

Our daughters

Our beloved

May be conveniently ignored by law now

Legally 

They are property

of the god

of the party

the state

.

 

re edited and re dedicated to the supreme court of merika 5.5.22 pd lyons

ruff from 2011 in eight bits, by pd Lyons


So because the day is bright and dancing outside my window I am most lazy regarding today’s blog so forewarned be best armed – what follows? 2 photos and a newishly  found ruff unpolished as if in amber piece.

’til next time

pd Lyons has left the building

edinborough scotland

edinborough scotland

 

 

25.3.11

today out on the veranda of all gone away youth whiskered timber dreams woke another coffee

1
you wouldn’t have to wait for anything to boot up
turn on or upload you could just sit down
bang away royal keys upon a cotton rag of water marked paper

you wouldn’t have to settle for crap wine, Bordeaux châteaux
would be easily accessible even to a low level pot dealer

you could get a soft pack of Marlboro that tasted good –

better than the hard pack in the days before anyone even thought of lights

the rent was 180 for five big rooms a laundry room full bath including heat and utilities

you could sit on the second floor back porch blow a joint in broad daylight watch some old ginger tom prowl around some inner city orange rose bush while the most beautiful girl you thought you’d ever know sat on your lap your hands finding ways to make her melt underneath her long gypsy soul skirt.

2.

starbuck girls go by to boys that somehow remind you to your own self except instead of love they sell schemes and plans and how to maximize income and output and the most beautiful girl in the place gives her precious attention to someone who won’t even make her come, too busy trying to sell her something that she won’t ever need on her death bed.

3.

don’t know what the reasons for the way we are is
don’t know how we got to be so far away from where we were
but there’s a time a place for everything
there’s a never ending ever changing way of everything
so they say and who are they for us to disbelieve when we can see it in our selves
we cross the street together out of step

we walk up stairs without noticing our own eyes
we can’t get on because all we want is something we remember way back there

4.

so much can happen when we live long enough
so many thing s we thought were no possible could have come to pass
but not believing in the future
did we not live grandly in the past?

my mother wanted things for me I did not believe in
my father wanted me to somehow not be a worry
my regret is only that being so inarticulate I could not explain
how I could love them but not want to ever become them

5.
cannot manage this consistency too well
I know your chimes of freedom flashing
I am the outlaw child of all these blue collar working class heroes
I am not them but am eternally grateful to them
all they gave of their own unrequited youth so that I could be the rebel born
and I will not forget you and I will not neglect you
and I will raise your soft n hidden heart to my own pure unbridled lips
my kisses unconcerned with the blood of my mother and my father
I will cherish your suffering transformation into peace.

6.
whatever went winkingly down the stairs clinkily
open and wondering wounded and proud
never more thinkingly would she be drinkingly
out on the balcony summers no more

hearts could be full of love cause the most damaging cuttingly cursingly no matter how true could never be you

7.
how many times have I thought to see you there?
after all these years – damn near 40
don’t I still imagine I come round the wooded path way bend
and by that pond somehow you’re there

ghosts haunt the places that the living know
it has nothing g to do with where they died
ghosts haunt this place where I grew up
where I first saw you naked
and you broke my heart open before I even knew I’d love you

I know I won’t ever see you now
but if promises can be made to ghosts
then someday soon I’ll meet you here again
golden apples silver apples
pine needles on a summer day patch of grass back by the old turtle pond

8.

today I do not want backward

I know there is no such thing as then or later
and now’s so fleeting it hardly exists

I know the moon
calls me on the road of no stone no sand no steps

DSC_1035

Paris France

 

I know forever is the memory of your touch by pd lyons


 

I know forever is the memory of your touch

 

Angels with broken wings

I taste the sin they bring

I want to cling to them

But something always haunts me

.

Lust that is true,

Dreams that have gone astray

Down every road you know there’s really nothing much to choose

       

The siren’s sweet lament

Their spell is my intent

But there’s something in my head denying my attempt

A kind of howling sound says I am pledged to you

       .

I cross the thousand years

 Part the veil of tears

Despite the demon fears

I’m reaching out for you

 

And breaking through at last

The circle finally cast

 Kneeling down I bow my head to you

 

 sword at your feet

 crown on your lap

my heart into you hands

I am the Lady’s man

 

birthday note on turning 60 by pd lyons


1974 crosby

1974

 

the old fellow near the sea

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

.

DSC_4250

 

 

cover photo

photographer unknown

photographer unknown

Where Her Breasts Used to Be, as published by A Quiet Courage. 2016


Was very pleased to have thise poem appear on A Quiet Courage! Thank you  Clara Klein!

I have also included a link to their submission page : https://aquietcourage.wordpress.com/submissions/

https://aquietcourage.wordpress.com/2016/08/19/where-her-breasts-used-to-be/

Home

He kissed her courage,

he kissed her fear,

he kissed her sadness,

her deep unknowability.

Because she was his dearest,

because she was all he loved

and ever wished to.

P.D. Lyons: Born and raised in the USA. Travelling and living abroad since 1998. Currently resides in Ireland. Received Mattatuck College Award for Outstanding Achievement in Poetry. Received Bachelor of Science with honors from Teikyo Post University Connecticut. Books of poetry: Searches For Magic, and Caribu & Sister Stones published by Lapwing Press, Belfast. A third book, Myths Of Multiplicity, published by Erbacce press Liverpool as part of the 2014 Erbacce International Annual Prize. pdlyons.wordpress.comamazon.com/PD-Lyons/e/B00B6PEFSQ.

Siane, by pd lyons


 

Siane
 
Part One
 
He truly loved the land more than anyone ever did, as if this loving could make the land forget how he had come, as one adopted through the wedding chamber. With skepticism and disdain the land responded, for this sentimental tender love – this was not enough!
And the horses? Well they adored him.Their noses quivered at his presence,they raced, stood up on their hind legs, sang for him even took bites out of each other to draw his attention. But they would not let him ride. For they were brothers and sisters with him, beloved companion, never to be considered master. And he? He admired the land for its strength, how it showed to him its true face and for that he said “What great spirit, a terrible beauty. How fortunate I am to be chosen to see the true face of the land.”
Towards the horses he was also grateful and for that he said “What noble blood, what rare beauty. I am so fortunate to be allowed to know their secrets.”
While both the land and the horses  looked to one another and said “Well what can you do with a man like that?”
   
Now she, who had taken the man to her wedding bed, she held the land tight with her own hands and so marked it with her own blood. That was how the land was won. Her own flesh protecting and defending and willing to do so over and over – That was how the land was kept. It was she who led the horses to shelter when the sky burst at midnight, kept them from prairie fires, dipped her hands into their mothers at the time of their birth and with a voice of smooth leather and singing bees subdued even the most bold among them. To the land she was forgiving. Admiring its resilience she would say “So beautiful yet so obstinate – you are the breaker of my heart but I will never leave you.” To the horses she was wise and often amused would say “You make me laugh when you try your tricks on me but I won’t let you forget our bargain.”
While both the land and the horses  had long ago looked to one another and said “Well what can you do with a woman like that?”
The man of course could not understand all the ways of his wife. In his opinion her discipline kept her from appreciating the beauty that surrounded her. But he would also say, as was his nature “I admire her strength and abilities. Truly this is a magnificent woman. If she were not my wife and therefore part of me I should envy her these things.”
The woman at first was quite perplexed regarding her husband. She suspected perhaps some flaw in a man who would refuse to master such things in a way similar to her own. On this she pondered for some time before concluding that because of his way, surely he had never known loneliness. So then she did say “My husband has this nature which I cannot my self afford to indulge in. Yet it is also true that being joined to me he can do this for us and we will both benefit from the balance.”
So their wisdom of what marriage truly is prevailed and luckily for me because that is what I was born into. My parents of course taught me their ways.With the horses my mother taught me how to ride, my father, how to share their secrets. She, how to hold the land,he, that I could love it more than anyone who ever saw it. And I, being a true issue of their wedding bed, understood both and formed a way of blending each, a way of my own

 

 

DSC_4590

The Missing Mare by PD Lyons


I went

rain splattering

glad for good boots

 a proper brimmed hat

I went

grass mud

wire fence

wooden gates

strained for sign or sound

missing mare heavy with foal

urging me on

(found this ruff in an note book from back in the horse days long long ago in the dream time hope its not too bad for you all)

%d bloggers like this: