Category Archives: old songs

memorial by pd lyons


ever onward let me go
ever onward let me go home

this world of lamentation
these buds of easy bloom

you don’t know where
but i’ll find my way

so let me go

i’ll leave a little light for you – if i can

 

truth of youth


stronger

sleeker

smarter

better

wet ourselves at the sight of each other

In My Own Mother’s Tongue by pd lyons


For those who seek refuge

 

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I shall sing you in my own mother’s tongue

The way she sang to me

Old sweet flowers be the rhyme

Before the sorrow time

When all the world so kinder

Even winter held forth joy

When all the dreams of childhood

Free of blood and pain

I shall sing you in my own mothers tongue

The way she sang to me

Hush little darling

Hush a bye and sleep

Soft is the bed where you lay your head

Sweet is the land of sleep

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Satin Blues


 

an elegance of sorrow

nights, no matter how alone

never wishing that they’d end

sometimes the moon

sometimes the stars

sometimes mortality at midnight

halos struck by strange light

rainbowed by the rain

re d Ellington 1956 newport

Take The Ashes ( the color of slavery), by pd lyons


galway

Take The Ashes

~

The color of slavery is not black

It is red raw open wounds

It is bruised swollen rapes

It is salt scald tears

A scarred ripcord sun

A shimmer of shame rage guilt desire

~

The color of freedom?

Is not black

Is not in stars or bars or bullets

Not even white

Or champagne limousines

Tailored suits, custom shoes, inked tattoos

~

The color of freedom is gray

The gray of ashes

Without which the phoenix will not rise

~

Take the ashes

~

RISE

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Bob & Sinclair – now there are two from Minnesota!


So it is a little like history repeats itself. Bod dared go electric. Sweden dared go Bob.

Much of the debate seems to center around – can song writing be poetry?

If we take a look we can say that a song may be written from one of two angles or a combination of the two.

  1. you get a tune and figure out some words to go with it.
  2.  you’ve figured out some words and get a tune to go with them.

Does either approach preclude the words from being poetry?

 

Maybe the words were inspired by the music? maybe inspired by something else and music was chosen to broaden the exposure of the words? What poet wouldn’t like to reach an audience?

Maybe the words were inspired by the music? If so then would not the music be like a prompt? How many poets have written work to prompts? Are we going to set standards for acceptable prompts? Remember a prompt is an inspiration. Does that mean the poetry inspired by music is inferior? So should we exclude from poetry words inspired by music?

What shall be the acceptable categories for poetical inspiration? Do we need a governing body of Poeticals to decide and more important to enforce the structure of purity? A licensing board to ensure that no mere songwriter sully the good name of poetry.

 

Its being done very successfully in popular music, only certain categories are allowed and they must all sound a certain way.  They call it the X Factor.

 

As a poet I am pleased that a poet won the Nobel Prize for literature. I do believe poetry is indeed literature.

As a music lover and fan I am very happy that the songs of my youth are acknowledged as changing the world not just myself.

As an artist I am excited by the fact the Bob has indeed brought it all back home, effortlessly stirring up the frigid & ridged catagorisers of the world. Who knows what great inspirations will fall out? Maybe even a song or two?

 

“Sinclair Lewis had won the Nobel Prize for Literature, the first American to do so. Lewis had written Elmer Gantry and was the master of absolute realism, he invented it. He was from Sauk Center, Minnesota.” – Chronicles vol.1 by Bob Dylan. a Book Of The Year.

 

noun

  • 1A short poem or other set of words set to music or meant to be sung.

     

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    red door paris 2016 pdlyons

 

Year Book & Tramuda Blues as published in Shot Glass Journal


Thank you to the editors of Shot Glass Journal for supporting my work. These appear in Issue #20 September 2016.

http://www.musepiepress.com/shotglass/preview/pd_lyons2.html

~

Year Book

these are the streets
I came from.
these are the people I knew;
who were gonna live forever.

names I cannot now recall
ways that I cannot find
places no longer there
unrecognisable even in daylight.

if you live long enough
no one will know what you’re talking about

 

 

 

Tramuda Blues

woke up this afternoon
my arms still felt like they were holding you.
I had been dreaming about you,
probably because I slept cold on the floor
and wanted to be warm.

I tried to work some but your presence kept distracting me
until I couldn’t help but give in.
got dressed. got out by the reservoir
just in time to watch the first sunset of the year
when my breath came up like smoke

 

pdlyonsphoto 2016

pdlyonsphoto 2016

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


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.

The Yearning / El Anhelo , a snippet by pd lyons


pd lyons photography

so back in bed with the morning coffee. needed to make some poetical notes, rummage for a piece of paper . found a hardly used note book from 2012 in the dresser drawer as one does. anyway scribbled what i needed to and then found this little bit of a poem. thought; should blog it. later in the kitchen doing some clean up popped on a CD hadn’t played in years Carrie Rodriguez, the last song on the cd done in Spanish. “La Punalada Trapere”. Had no idea what it meant but thought it might be cool with the poem. in looking for a you tube to post here, found one with her doing the song live on a radio show, she tells the interview where it comes from, her great aunt Eva Graza.

so here is the poem, which i would title “The Yearning / El Anhelo “, which is not about the song and the two versions of the song which is not about the poem but somehow of course they go together with my morning coffee, my kitchen chores and my long illustrious life. from here in Ireland. adiosa. mind how you go & watch your back.

 

all night

waiting

nothing but moon light and stars

where is the one who loves me

where is the the one I love

 

 

all night

 waiting

nothing but moonlight and stars

only the night

only the night

only the night

hears me whisper

over and over

his name

 

 

5.Sept.2012

 

Just a Cat, by pd lyons


Just a Cat

 

No longer

Will morning find you  pondering the flight of birds

 

You won’t

Trip me in the kitchen, a bandit circling – like I’d forget the milk

 

Up on the bed

Attack everything  beneath the duvet

 

Purr with my daughter and the Barbies

Watch  some favorite TV show.

 

No more my little one

Trust me to carry you like a slip of black velvet still sleeping in my hands

 

No. No more because

Some ignorant bastard drove like a maniac and thought, oh just a cat

 

collage by pdl

collage by pdl

 

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