Category Archives: Uncategorized

only august by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

i love rock and/or rolli love rock and / or roll

~

only august

crows

almost quiet

only feather sounds

rising

almost still

only slow

steady beating

as if horses

finally

taught themselves

to march in order

across the fields

almost green

only smoky

spiral dust

almost damp descending

mirage

as if insects

finally taught themselves

to sing

like falling rain

across midday

almost yawning

only august

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mindfulness ~ understanding what it is to be human…


For Much Deliberation

 In meditation we discover our inherent restlessness. Sometimes we get up and leave. Sometimes we sit there but our bodies wiggle and squirm and our minds go far away. This can be so uncomfortable that we feel’s it’s impossible to stay. Yet this feeling can teach us not just about ourselves but what it is to be human…we really don’t want to stay with the nakedness of our present experience. It goes against the grain to stay present. These are the times when only gentleness and a sense of humor can give us the strength to settle down…so whenever we wander off, we gently encourage ourselves to “stay” and settle down. Are we experiencing restlessness? Stay! Are fear and loathing out of control? Stay! Aching knees and throbbing back? Stay! What’s for lunch? Stay! I can’t stand this another minute! Stay!”” 

― Pema Chödrön

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Baby It’s You, by pd lyons from old songs


Pdlyons's Explorations

Baby It’s You

cross well polished floors
games the size of life and death
reckless
how else could it be
matching my heart
with your steel

way over my head
cause baby it’s you

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Off The Bookshelf – Brave Boat Harbor & The Vinland Map and the Tartar Relation


Pdlyons's Explorations

DSC_1944

This is one I have had for ages. Snagged from my dads bookshelf when he was selling out of print items. It was published by Yale University Press. This copy is fifth edition C1967. As you can see it came from the library of Calvin Hosmer JR. In my opinion Calvin lived, and indeed may still be living, in a town with one of the coolest place names ever – Brave Boat Harbor! I think it is one of the main reasons I have not been able to part with it for over thirty years.

DSC_1942

It is inscribed by C.HJ. with the note:

“This Vinland map

was found to be

a fake  but the

book is still

good reading

CHJ”

Personally I would disagree. Once I read the inscription I was disinclined to enjoy the fore mentioned good read. Can’t help but wonder how the recipient felt getting a gift…

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recently published by Poetry Warrior


Pdlyons's Explorations

Jenny


my fingers have touched

your face

your razor cut hair

rose bud lips

every square inch of how you define your

slender secret self

vulnerable to love

shielded by the city

defensive diaphragms

nicotine & coffee

shadow sister

manhattan monochromed & cool


believing anything was possible we were the same


beneath warm tones of old bones

pictures of girls and oceans

first born anxiety

visitation eased by distance

horizons met and thus reset

soft steady ache like something summer upon green lawns

time to talk in silence


The Poetry Warrior, The Real Poet’s Ezine.

www.thepoetrywarrior.com

jenny published by poetry warrior 6 issue aug.09 www.thepoetrywarrior.com.

Thank you to Abigail Beaudelle editor.

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‘Glendalough Sonnet’ and other poems by Angela Patten


Poethead

Glendalough Sonnet

 
Rain and relatives, relatives and rain.
In Glendalough’s monastic town
a jackdaw baby thrusts his downy head
out of a round tower putlock and raises
an ungodly yellow beak to squawk
at gawking tourists snapping cellphones,
the spines of their umbrellas dripping
on the ancient bullaun stones
where monks once mixed their potions
and the holywell was rich in lithium
which turned out to be a great cure
for the occasional pilgrim who, like me,
suffered from the watery weather
or a sodden slough of Celtic despond.
 
Angela Patten ©, The Cumberland Review 2015
 

Inchigeelagh Getaway

 
Gaeilge, Inse Geimhleach, meaning “Island of the Hostages”
 
The land is a sponge sodden
with salt water and rain,
the mossed path a tangle
of Herb Robert and buttercup.
Giant leaves of gunnera
and the green spears of rushes
stand guard around the pond.
Laburnum hangs its…

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The Yearning / El Anhelo , a snippet by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

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…

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Anne Sexton’s Last Letter to God by Tracey Herd


Mrs Pip's World

Anne Sexton’s Last Letter to God

This is the last letter I will write
sitting at my kitchen table
with the blue coffee mug
at my elbow and the pot
roasting each bean to perfection:
faraway continents
in my cluttered suburban kitchen.
The sun is sharp through the blinds,
crisscrossing the kitchen’s
clean tiles with yellow and white.
I walk a knife-edge of light.
This is the last letter I will write.

I have been a witch, clothed in rags
and shreaking. I have borrowed
the wings of angels and given them back:
a poor fit, and yes, like Icarus
I had no sense and didn’t much like
falling back to earth. I have had lovers
by the dozen, some poets and others
and a faithful husband that I left
in the end. I have written painfully evocative
letters from Europe and many poems,
but this is the last letter…

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two poems, ROWING & THE AUTHOR OF THE JESUS PAPERS SPEAKS by Anne Sexton


Pdlyons's Explorations

ROWING
A story, a story!
(Let it go. Let it come.)
I was stamped out like a Plymouth fender
into this world.
First came the crib
with its glacial bars.
Then dolls
and the devotion to their plasctic mouths.
Then there was school,
the little straight rows of chairs,
blotting my name over and over,
but undersea all the time,
a stranger whose elbows wouldn’t work.
Then there was life
with its cruel houses
and people who seldom touched-
though touch is all-
but I grew,
like a pig in a trenchcoat I grew,
and then there were many strange apparitions,
the nagging rain, the sun turning into poison
and all of that, saws working through my heart,
but I grew, I grew,
and God was there like an island I had not rowed to,
still ignorant of Him, my arms, and my legs worked,
and I grew, I grew,

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2018 Chapbook Contest Winner — The Sundress Blog


Katie Burgess’ Wind on the Moon Named Winner of Sundress Publications’ 2018 Chapbook Competition Sundress Publications is delighted to announce the winner for our seventh chapbook competition, Katie Burgess. Her chapbook, Wind on the Moon, rose to the top among many other outstanding works. Stacey Balkun, Chapbook Series Editor of Sundress Publications and author of Jackalope-Girl Learns to […]

via 2018 Chapbook Contest Winner — The Sundress Blog

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