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boomerz by pd lyons


Boomerz

I live only in memory
The day to day does not inspire me
I only want to sit here think about what used to be.

Here only in my own home.
Locked doors, paid taxes, insurance policies, protect me.
TV,  petrol chemicals, nourish me.

People not like me outrage me.

A Country Dance by PD Lyons


 

 

A Country Dance by PD Lyons

 

I am a feeder of crows

My distant neighbour, a farmer

None too pleased

 

I feed them

He shoots them

A thing we do out here

 

Sometimes when I drive by his gates

I see the carcases

black birds hung on a barbed wire

 

Often, I wonder if he’d like my heart to hang

But then I’m sure like me he knows

Takes two to tango

.

mix media by morgan lyons

mix media by Morgan Lyons

mix media by morgan lyons

Crows by Morgan Lyons

3 from Dudjom Rinpoche read by PD Lyons


 

~

1. I, a roaring lion

2. The lofty snow mountain’s upper summits

3. When the sun arrives at the center ~

from Wisdom Nectar

by

Dudjom Rinpoche

translated by

Ron Garry

Snow Lion Publications Tsadra Foundation Series

2003

Thank you for watching.

Good Luck Bye!

It is a world of ghosts, by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

DSC_4091

I live with ghosts.

all memories are ghosts

all the things I’ve yet to do?

ghosts to be.

I am the ghost becoming for all others,

just as they are for me.

It is a world of ghosts.

Where is everyone you ever knew?

Every thing you have ever done?

All that is this present,

All that has become past,

All that will ever be –

ghostliness.

That is what we know

and that is what we fear.

Not because of any harm,

no ghost can really cause harm.

But because no ghost can  touch,

or indeed be touched.

That is why we continuously  deny our existence.

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Didn’t We Used to Know Better, circa 1973 by PD Lyons


 

 

bacon I believe

When he would reach both hands open wide sky pull fists into fits as if muscle alone could change the world and make whatever it was roiled inside come out into some sort of peace serenity wisdom of sages and healer of masses. Instead of cigarette bourbon beer, instead cocaine snotty girls lines and rocks wine and physical graffiti still life with twitched nerve endings. Calling it love. Calling it art Calling it life dancing with death as if fear could be appeased by feigning recklessness bravado of a bullying sort.

Gimme a light will yea man. Give men a buck if you got it. I’m tired of standing out here the wind is high and I’m not and brother could I use at least a cuppa coffee. Don’t I know you from school? Didn’t we grow up on the same block? Didn’t your sister go out with me brother? Didn’t your daddy know mine? Days were when I could-a brother, days when I didn’t ask. Days when I dealt bought or stolen. days when I wasn’t so old. Used to call it a party then. Used to call is a rush. Used to call it a living. Now its just doing time. Wouldn’t you spare us a smoke then? Wouldn’t you have some loose change? Didn’t we play ball together? Didn’t we used to get drunk? Didn’t we used to know better? Couldn’t you just help me out?

 

pdlyonsphoto

Blue jean Jimmy by PD Lyons Poetry re The Wind Cries Mary by J. Hendrix


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Smoke Sat leaning
 

Head across

Your Mary knees

Said no one ever played this song for you

 

This then

was before empty blue tomorrows

 

This then

was everything possible

No blue but the sky for reaching

 

This then

was every wide-open 

breath fled after you

 

All Now ,

is left.

Only ghosts, the past.

Only here, Wishing smoke.

And how can anything be created besides memory?

Ever altering

Ever moving memory

Like love

Like our wide-open kisses

Like our smoky Jimmy

Playing Mary.

 

Waltzing the Night from As If he Rain Fell In Ordinary Time 2019 erbacce-press prize for poetry


Pdlyons's Explorations

Waltzing the Night read by the poet.

When I was 18yrs old I left home and moved into my first apartment. It was a first floor traditional Victorian type three family house still typical in big towns america. This poem is based on some of those days on Cook St Waterbury Ct.

Thank you for watching!

Here’s what erbacce press had to say about my work –

The annual erbacce-prize for poetry is open from January 1st to May 1st every year. It is entirely FREE to enter thus it attracts top quality poets world-wide… in 2019 we had close to eight thousand entries and all were judged ‘blind’. P D Lyons was the outright winner! … it is sheer quality poetry, the whole book encompasses a simplicity coupled with deep insight; a truly beautiful collection which reveals more each time it is re-opened… (perfect-bound: 112 pages)

 

 

 

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Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle Received from a Friend Called Felicity by John Tobias ~ Read by PD Lyons


This would have been a very influential book for me. Would have gotten my hands on it when abt 15 or 16. So different from what we were mostly learning about poetry in school. Thank you for reading & watching. the book is still in print and so very much alive! cheers.

Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle Received from a Friend Called Felicity by John Tobias

~ Read by PD Lyons

from the anthology ~

Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle… and Other Modern Verse

 

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Books

New York/1967

Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle… and other Modern Verse is a Lewis Carroll Shelf Award-winning anthology of poetry edited by Stephen Dunning, Edward Lueders and Hugh Smith. … Another commentator in 1999 called it “[t]he most widely used anthology for young adults ever and still in print”.

Editor: Stephen Dunning, Edward G. Lueders

Author: Stephen Dunning

Genre: Poetry

originally published 1967

 

 

 

 

Diary by PD Lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

Diary

Dust in the corner

Pale light through loose boards

Soft paper pages partially filled

So small

The world with all its bigness

Could have so easily passed by.

~

Will we, all of us leave the same absence?

Know the same impossible loneliness,

As if somehow shared, we could know one another ,

~

We have all touched this world with little fingers,

As have I;

Not as some imagining or speculation

But as a human being.

Certain of my own sense of purpose.

So many things bigger than me.

So many things I could not wait to do.

How long it takes to be a grown up.

~

Unlike you I do know the story’s end.

Unlike you I could not, not know.

Remember me this way:

Small as I was, it all fit into my life.

(for Anne)

wrote this about five years ago. sent a version…

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Promised Land from As If The rain Fell In Ordinary Time ~ read by the Poet


MORE REMINISCENCE FROM THE CITIES. a LITTLE BIT OF NYC 1980’S WITH A DASH OF WATERBURY CT AND SOME POLITICALLY  INCORRECT DRIVING REFERENCES.

THANK YOU FOR SPENDING TIME WITH ME.

GOOD LUCK! Bye.

CHEERS.

 

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