Category Archives: old songs

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

 

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

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.

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)

Nobody’s Child Should Be Killed For Any Asshole Person, Place or Thing Even If It Is Your “god” by pd lyons


Nobody’s Child Should Be Killed

Great adventure
Fraught with spills of Disney danger
Ogre infested roller coasting
Wood slates buckle
In a pre-safety -harness dawn

There are no directions home
Resistance is fatal
No one can verify the conspiracy theory of your life
Contact with those you even think can
Is mercilessly forbidden
(Who are you?)
Why do you think they’re so far away?
No body can stay in one place any more
Besides who do you think they are?

Through cracked glass eye
Looking glass creatures
What will you find?
Where do you go?
Paris in springtime
Looking at you kid
Better hold onto your life
Draped in Shan gri la la la boom D A
Dancing merry as a moth in May

All your wonderful fears
All your fantastical inspirational fears
Settle into muddy sucking reasons,
Reasons to stay home go to work, get insured,
Go home, watch every possible moment of TV

Your mission, you’ve accepted, is non negotiable
The situation is non superficial
Critical mass is a constant
There’s not enough pretense to make a hill of beans
The whole world is looking for a blanket to hide under
If you don’t keep your back turned all the trees that have turned into gorilla monsters
Will get you and if they get you they’ll get me so do as you’re told

Pins and needles dinosaur chimes of freedom flashing brief
As if all the lifetimes of all the worlds were but a pan.
No matter how old you are
There’s always so much more time than that
That you will not be
(Who are you?)
Where do you go?
The simple joy of youth –
The ability to say fuck you to the truth and mean it
But when do you become adult?
Where are those roads you promised to go down?
Rank and file
Basically a rotten plan for escaping.
No matter where you go there they are.
No matter where you go, there you are.

I am’s what I am and I can’t stands no more.

You get the life you deserve,
You get the leaders you deserve –
You know we don’t deserve anything as fucked up as we got.
A strung out petrol-chemical nightmare addiction full blown paranoiacs unexplainable any more by mere greed.

Its people. It’s made from people.

The small-scale suicide is terrifying.
You want something comforting like Hiroshima or Auschwitz.
There’s a degree of stupidity that transcends mercy.
(Who are you?)
Where do you go?
Dukes of hazard big brother X file factor maybelline extravaganza
How to be the perfect whatever it is they’re trying to sell this week

There goes your final wake up call
There’s no going back
No post-apocalyptic fiction
No post anything
It’s apocalyptic now
Right now there’s no fucking later.

Oh the wisdom of the west – base your entire way of life on a single
Rapidly diminishing non-renewable highly toxic substance found mainly in parts of the world where the indigenous peoples hate you for it.
There’s no fictional account of anything.
Every book a holy drivel worshiped by some idiot.
The majority of all life is lived in panic.
Which way do we go?
Which way do we go?

The Roman Empire built on concrete
Blood mixed in the mortar lasts a thousand years
You in the west
You in the west
Foundations set in human blood
Good reason why it rhymes with best.
The blood of all the children of this world
Nourishes your unequivocal pursuit of acquisition and
Only the insane would ever want to blow it up?
(Who are you?)
What does it take to fill you?
When will you ever have enough?
You who have everything can’t even recognize what enough looks like.
Insatiable pit, a black hole without even an ass to hold it
(Who are you?)
How do you travel?
To eternity, to the great beyond, to the wild blue yonder?
SUV Four wheel drive of course
Crush the world you see through TV windows
Climate controlled stereo CD DVD padded seats and harnesses
Oblivious to howls screams flood fire
No shake no rattle no roll
In complete safety and comfort – just like your own home.

Oh say can you see
How fuckin deaf can you be?
So much stupidity wields a star spangled nightmare
Of pure un awakening destruction.

If you want bananas
Will grow in blood
Pineapples in blood
Horror provides the blood with which you preserve your way of life
How do you not know?
How do you not see?

How long before the insane old men with their dried up old salt entrenched vengeful versions of arrogant entitlement shit die off?
Where do they keep coming from?
Is there never to be an end of ignorance in power?

There’s no place left to go.
Where do you think you’ll go when this world is dead?
Where do you think your child will be?
How can anyone not get it?
People die, human beings die mothers fathers children babies infants die so you can drive your car and wear your pretty little diamond rings
And before they die they live in misery
So you can make Justine Timberlake richer than god, rally round the Donald trump.
People watch their babies’ burn – on fire so you can count the shopping days before Christmas,
Have more shit than you’ll ever know what to do with, poison everything on the planet to get it and still feel depressed because you don’t have e-fuckin-ough.
(Who the fuck are you?)
Where do you go?
Cinematic re writes history
With theme songs and celebrities –
There is no sound track to the horrors of your world,
Plenty of human voices afraid
Afraid of their own pain
Afraid for their children –
Drenched in ancient orange napalm bikini smart bomb festival of fleshtuals
Ritualised horror but not terror
Drowned out with TV and Mctimberlake, Magazines, news show and talk show diets
Wal-Mart shopper specials, medicines and miller time.
Why would you want to hear anything else?
When do those old mother fuckers who kill our children die off?
When do those killers die off?
The only question worth asking.
The only one worth answering.
The only one worth hearing
Why don’t they take their own stupid asses to that heavenly paradise?
Leave the rest of us alone.

No body’s child should be killed for any asshole person, place or thing
Even if it is your god.

2011 connecticut

beauty to fly by ~ music by Its A Beautiful Day ~


What do you think?

Two poems and three songs for my Father Donald R Lyons Nov 21. 1925 – Jan 26, 2003.


Will ye no come back again? Will ye no come back again? Better lo’ed ye canna be, Will ye no come back again? – and me still here crying but not minding. I miss my dad.

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

     ////

Poets we love and live with ~ #Bob Dylan #JoanBaez / With God On Our Side


( This one makes me cry  still. 

after all these years

because of all these years. PDL)

With God On Our Side

Oh my name it ain’t nothin’
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I was taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side
Oh, the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh, the country was young
With God on its side
The Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War, too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I was made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side
The First World War, boys
It came and it went
The reason for fighting
I never did get
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don’t count the dead
When God’s on your side
The Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And then we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now, too
Have God on their side
I’ve learned to hate the Russians
All through my whole life
If another war comes
It’s them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side
But now we got weapons
Of chemical dust
If fire them, we’re forced to
Then fire, them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God’s on your side
Through many a dark hour
I’ve been thinkin’ about this
That Jesus Christ was
Betrayed by a kiss
But I can’t think for you
You’ll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.
So now as I’m leavin’
I’m weary as Hell
The confusion I’m feelin’
Ain’t no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
That if God’s on our side
He’ll stop the next war
 
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Bob Dylan
With God on Our Side lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

 (response to the above)

why does wisdom take so long by pd lyons

 

how many the promises

un kept

those from fifty – sixty years ago

make me weep with their lack of age

woefully apropos for today

why does wisdom take so long?

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