Category Archives: ruff

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


night woodDisappearing 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

DSC_1812

CSC_1981

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?)

Mel-Ramos-Lucky-Lulu-Blonde (copy)

 

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

 

 

 

vintage49

i love rock n roll

Blonde In The Bleachers by Joni Mitchell from For The Roses


just joey and buddha

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

dsc_3679

i love rock n roll

i love rock n roll*

*unknown photographer

Urge for Going, poetry by Joni Mitchell song versions by by Tom Rush, Joni & Mary Black


=I know this is from the beautiful poet Joni Mitchell but the song version i first heard was by Tom. I’ll include a version by her and one by Mary Black , another of my favorites. but first I Invite you
 to read the poetry before you listen  to the songs. today the sky is steel grey and the winter has found it’s way back into Spring time. Snow and the outside air hurts my fingers…
So give it a read and a listen yeah? Tell me he don’t make that guitar skate like  sharp blades upon a black ice lake….
 
Lyrics
I awoke today and found the frost perched on the town
It hovered in a frozen sky, then it gobbled summer down
When the sun turns traitor cold
And all trees are shivering in a naked row
I get the urge for going but I never seem to go
I get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
Summertime is falling down and winter is closing in
I had me a man in summertime
He had summer-colored skin
And not another girl in town
My darling’s heart could win
But when the leaves fell on the ground
And bully winds came around pushed them face down in the snow
He got the urge for going and I had to let him go
He got the urge for going
When the meadow grass was turning brown
And summertime was falling down and winter was closing in
Now the warriors of winter they gave a cold triumphant shout
And all that stays is dying and all that lives is getting out
See the geese in chevron flight flapping and racing on before the snow
They’ve got the urge for going and they’ve got the wings so they can go
They get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
Summertime is falling down and winter is closing in
I’ll ply the fire with kindling and pull the blankets to my chin
I’ll lock the vagrant winter out and I’ll bolt my wandering in
I’d like to call back summertime and have her stay for just another month or so
But she’s got the urge for going so I guess she’ll have to go
She get the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And all her empires are falling down
And winter’s closing in
And I get the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And summertime is falling down
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Joni Mitchell
Urge For Going lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Crazy Crow Music / Siquomb Music Publishing,
Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
 

promise, from : ceremonies of the horsemen, by pd lyons


indian pipe @ sleeping giant

indian pipe @ sleeping giant

prisoners of ghosts haunt the hallways of my own memories
past lives
opportunities regretted
twists and turns
I don’t want to leave only dried hollow husks
blown by my own reluctance to participate in my own and only treasure.

we lived in a time
when women sat beside us whispering on back porch landing’s
interrupted by the neighbors
running down the stairs
hands wet beneath Danskin purple skirts she spoke of how in past or future
it didn’t matter which but another life
I was her child she the mother
knowing I would go on to crucifixion
suckled me with salt water tears
glistening breasts mingling milk
into my hungry hot house mouth.

were there ever other places
other days,
freedom
confidence
a mouth full of meat
a belief in anything was possible.

I stood with someone once at midnight, the midnight
not just a time form but place
a place where midnight
born and lives out its days in each of us.
The place of my mid night sometime in October
out there by the water
breath rising in smoke
dew soaked shivering pirate breath kisses

I called you cypress by moon light,
buccaneer beauty I chose
there in the place of my own midnight
you but not you
rather the you of what you were.

I called you Guinevere by moonlight
lay down with you there
in the pace of my own midnight
among cold Halloween golf course grass
surrounded by stolen beer bottles
by a dwindling hedge barely separated from the street.

The only promise I ever kept –
never a mathematician or carpenters wife.
I have not even now more years than miles can tell – broken that promise.
Sometimes I forget I made it,
sometimes I forget to congratulate myself for not breaking it,
sometimes I try to barter it, threaten to turn my back if somebody doesn’t pretty soon pay me for it.

But I am not the famous rebel,
I am not the muse’s figure head –
quietly steadily I am only the keeper of my own promise
born from misguided Madonnas
introduced by pale white women the place of my own midnight

I have never stopped,
I have never turned back
that’s all I have ever really done
with all that treasure which was my life,
no big deal but still something real, no surrender, no slipping ,
no disparity of one who broke the only promise ever truly made.

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from poems found in boxes. for Loretta 1973 by pd lyons


for my dear friend from long ago and far away. remember?

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Rose was the first thought

Remembering was coming

But put back

Almost worn out

Now – where roses bloom

Not trying

For anything

Now – where roses bloom

Not trying

For anything

Now – when I am

And am not

Then or pretty soon

Or never or forever

Now

When words burn meaningless

Giving warmth to bodies not left behind

The thoughts are all

Growing like flowers

Coiling like snakes

Blooming gaping

Snakes and flowers

The flesh we care for

The planet we care for

The stars we strive for –

Close you eyes

See .

Sept.12.73  for Loretta.

1974 crosby

1st draft Sunday Morning in the City of Pandemica ~ by P D Lyons


written on first time back in Dublin since Feb (pandemic protocols initiated in March) on a early Sunday morning in September as i stood out from the hotel. now as of this last week of September the city is once again on restrictions.

PS for those who might not know – the Luas mentioned in the piece is a public transport akin to an above ground subway.

 

 

Here is the print ~

Sunday Morning early in the City of Pandemica

   First of all

It was a Sunday morning

In the city early

   Sunday morning early

In the city of Pandemica

   Grey Sunday early on the sidewalks of the city of Pandemica

Cool collage

Damp cool collage breezes empty streets

Unmasked sounds

Cellophane, gull,s fop fop fop

 soft shoe vague woman eyes on her own toes walks by

   What’s the time? hey buddy? hey ya got the time?

A voice of an old fella didn’t even notice at first

Too busy in my own head in my own notebook

Hey ya got any cigarette papers?

All I could say to the only one who noticed me was, No

   They took my phone and all the photos of my kids

Cost me 15 euros to get them printed

Sorry but I need a shower, so I won’t get too close

But they keep sending me down to the quays and all they want to do down there is fight

I’m 47 and I don’t want to fight any more  you know?

Any way got to go.  Good luck. God bless.by

And he got onto the Luas

 

You might love the blue sky

And I the shapes clouds make

So maybe we remember

Without clouds the sky would be alone

Without sky the clouds have no home

Sometimes it takes a mask to reveal ourselves

 

Dublin 2020

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 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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

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