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Today Is Tuesday ( sometimes in this writing life 2 )by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

Today Is Tuesday (Sometimes in writing Life 2)

have to cut back on the computer
it’s pretty bad
hours of my life a day sucked away
nothing done
neck aches wrist aches
contacts dry fall out of my eyes like pieces of glass

from now on check in once a week
cater to those fan-based minions
socialize with those multitudinous faces
post a plog upon the blogs
once a week
maybe Mondays

got dressed drove into town
picked up a case of Lebanese red
two bottles Tyrconnel
litre of un-oaked Chardonnay for cooking
stack of legal sized pads,
and a few pounds Italian coffee

Today is Tuesday
I have liberation to celebrate.

DSC_0347

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Now Safe In Snug Harbour, by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

Now Safe In Snug Harbour

Think there is nothing left because
Things are not they way they were?
I have shouted at the city-blocked midnight
Danced fence post crooked side walked racially slurred neighbourhoods
Found my way past numerous boot strap bras soft slung underwear
Love named and nameless roof tops vestibules pine wood parked cars basements garages around the corner from some bar
All long railroads of dreams no longer gleaming dull rust into misuse

What is this pulse less thing?
Where is the pushing through my blood?
Undeniable maniacal all experience worth while
How failing of words to name you muse?

Once I belonged to your ancient word
Once midnight meant something swinging at the park
Shouting strings continuous words
Stars  sky earth and bug sounds
Hardly known girl beside me
Waiting supplicant for the dew that would soon cover us
Cold reservoir air upon one another
Our…

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“There is something about the literary life that repels me, all this desperate building of castles on cobwebs…” Raymond Chandler


ain’t it the trut

BEGUILING HOLLYWOOD

“By the way, would you convey my compliments to the purist who reads your proofs and tell him or her that I write in a sort of broken-down patois which is something like the way a Swiss-waiter talks, and that when I split an infinitive, God damn it, I split it so it will remain split, and when I interrupt the velvety smoothness of my more or less literate syntax with a few sudden words of barroom vernacular, this is done with the eyes wide open and the mind relaxed and attentive. The method may not be perfect, but it is all I have.”

These are the words of the ever crabby, completely fabulous Raymond Chandler (thank you dear readers for introducing his books to me) in a letter to one of his editors at The Atlantic magazine.

Talking with William Kuhn last week had got me going on all…

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But What If I Actually Suck?


The Rejection Survival Guide

I believe you have had the misfortune to meet my self-doubt demons. I wanted to dedicate today’s post to one of them; a tiresome little guy I like to call the What-If-I-Actually-Suck Demon.

He’s not one of my regulars, probably because I have a strong resistance to his wiles; I have been lucky enough to build up enough external validation from “high-stakes” critics (agents and editors, for example) that I have a solid pile of evidence against his case.

I’ll tell you when he does tend to show up, though. He shows up when I am unimpressed by somebody else’s work. Especially when that somebody approached me specifically and asked my opinion of said work, and I find it sloppy, or not well executed, or just plain bad.

You see, self-doubt demons are highly skilled at creating paradoxical vortexes of shame. On one side of the vortex is the fear…

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Poet As Noun, by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

Poet as Noun

he did not know what else to do

so he wrote

he did not think of it

he did not believe it to be divine

he was afraid of everything else

so he did this one thing

not that he didn’t do other things

but they were all varying responses to fear

attempts to over come

deny

hide from

himself and others

like the first one to do acid

like the first one to not cut his hair

like the first one to get married have a kid get divorced

get arrested go to jail

leave town leave the country

all the while knowing the falseness of bravado

he did not know what else to do

so he wrote

no matter how high

how angry

how lonely enough to believe that god did in fact exist and abandoned him

no matter how much sex

how many lovers

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true


Pdlyons's Explorations

every moment is guru.

yes. you are a moment.

buzz buzz

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►Mythology: “Dogs in Several Myths” 🐕 / “Collaboration with Brenda Davis Harsham” 💫.-


La Audacia de Aquiles

Mythology: “Dogs in Several Myths”🐕:

“Collaboration with Brenda Davis Harsham💫”

Artemis & Dog. Roman copy of the 1st cent. CE after a Greek original, 4th cent. BCE. Rome, Vatican Museums.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Introduction:

The dog is the first domesticated animal, and is symbolically associated with loyalty and vigilance, often acting as guardian and protector. Dogs are portrayed as guides and companions, hence the notion of “man’s best friend.”

Dogs almost always appear in a positive light. Native American legends generally portray the dog as the symbol of friendship and loyalty. The Joshua Athapascans believe that dogs were the first beings made by their creator-figure, Xowala’ci. The Jicarilla Apache, on the other hand, tell the story of God Black Hactcin, who first created a dog and then made man as a companion for the dog.  

In Irish Mythology, dogs were the traditional guardian animals of roads and crossways…

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CHILDREN OF THE WAR – a poem by Michael J. Whelan


Michael J. Whelan - Writer

Young boys near village Mass-grave, Kosovo 2001, Photo – (c)Michael J. Whelan

Children of the War

(Peacekeeping in Kosovo)

Once, on the outskirts of a future memory,
we stopped our convoy
on a narrow road
near a fallen tree.
I was in the lead vehicle
bringing supplies to a forgotten village
the war had touched,
our first time on that ground.
The tree blocked the route
as if booby-trapped.

There was movement in the woods
as we pushed through,
we didn’t shoot.
It was good to see them,
we drove by and they came in to view
hands raised high- begging.
The ambush turned out
to be scared children
weary of uniforms,
we gave them chocolate
for their little victory.
There was nothing to fear
though they didn’t know it
when they saw us coming
and in the long run of things
their tactics worked –
their smiles keep me…

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Portrait of my mother


Joshi Daniel Photography

Black and white portrait of my mother taken using a 28mm wide angle lens Mom | Trivandrum, Kerala, India

Pictured here is my mother. This was one of the first shots I took using the 28mm lens for my new 28mm Portraits Project. To find out more about this Project, click here.

Join me on: Instagram | Facebook

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A Barlow Knife


at that time the knife he carried with him was a Barlow

she noticed it as they sat by some small unnamed body of water

he was making slices off the few good wild apples they’d found

she said oh a Barlow?  you have a Barlow knife?

my dad had one. he always had it with him. he used to let me use it.

sometimes we went fishing,

sometimes he let me cut up apples too.

when he died my brother got it.

that night he drove into town

went into the sporting goods shop

he picked out one for her

not exactly the same as his

not heavy and bone like her dads

but a ruby red

two good blades

trimmed by a bit of brass

it was the only thing he ever gave her

besides long deep kisses

slices of secret wild apples

spiced by an Indian summer

haunted by an early winter

 

 

 

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