God Lights a Cigarette, by pdlyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

DSC_8203

God Lights a Cigarette

On the wood, shadows. Down the
windows, hazy through the drapes
spills the rain. The night,
curving rolling with motion still
whispers with winters needley lips
everything is passing through me.

There is you with your joy – me,
I’m trying to find depressions,
though I’m not sure what I feel.
You are magic mingling essences –
I am day dreaming on physical matters…
my lamp flickers with distress,
it moves the room with my voice:
help me
I’m drowning,
suffocating,
breathless…

*
To be born of your music,
in your magic my life blooms,
my thoughts, words – dissolve into
rich emotions tuned to immortality.

Lost in the lighting of a match,
in between the space and flame –
I become the sparkle in your eyes,
then I return…
Slowly I am returned,
I am the gold ring in your ear –
the unnoticed sensation.

View original post 27 more words

Advertisements

just back from the walk poem, first draft by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

a painted picture

left out before the snow

the wind blows through it

an old sheet of organic plastic

caught on

torn on

hard   wire

a post of whiskers greyer than the stone which holds it

loos ends going no where on each side

cattle long ago

bones softened

no memory even earths recalls them now

hard ground

brown ground

no trail to keep you from getting lost

no place really left to get lost

incline

something shadowy even though its sunlight

fingering illuminating

another afternoon

good fortune

among the winter

View original post

last october note


Pdlyons's Explorations

Last day before the school break. Morgan gets her week off from school again for Halloween, her birthday. Dress up for the last friday, no uniform today! We walk to school by the sea shore as usual, up the stone road to the main road and school. She runs off to play in the school yard. All the children dressed up, skeletons and witches classics still win out but plenty of cats, ghosts, and un-deads – but not a single Frankenstein. We sit on the bench, Michelle and i, waiting for the bus into Galway City. Its the first frosty morning. Its the pale pinks and greys breaking up over a restless bay. Its the season. Remembering.

dont make me cast a spell on you! dont make me cast a spell on you!

View original post

may all who journey


Pdlyons's Explorations

The gravest sorrow comes from closing our minds to the suffering of others and feeling justified in doing so.

Pema Chodron

Where loves rules there is no will to power; and where power predominates, there love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.

Carl Jung

View original post

may all who journey


Pdlyons's Explorations

not what breaks your heart,

but what hardens it –

this causes true harm – djanet tozeur

View original post

Tramuda Blues, from My Badlands, work in progress by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

Tramuda Blues

A drink
Bombay on the rocks

A smile
Money for the jukebox

If I deserved love
I’d see you more often
But you’re slippery and sharp
Too much alive for this ol’ timer

If not for the ghost of your eyes
I’d call you a dream

View original post

space one size fits all


Pdlyons's Explorations

no matter how much stuff, law, guns, money, strength you have – your fear will still run you. the courage to erase fear begins with space, the more space you give your self, the more space you give to others so they can be themselves. Space to relax, feel, do nothing, do something etc. space one size fits all – each and everyone of us. we have an abundance of mind space – the more we allow for ourselves and others, the less fear. the less fear the less suffering. if we are not afraid of losing our selves we can allow the possibility that the universe hold us all even those who disagree with us.

View original post

“Tattoo on Leaving Gettysburg” —P.D. Lyons The Ides Of March Journal Version


Pdlyons's Explorations

may all who journey remember may all who journey remember

“Tattoo on Leaving Gettysburg”
—P.D. Lyons

For Stacy

The dead of Gettysburg reach out, soak us with desire.
Teaching us its tears that shape their ghosts.

Even down at the Blue Parrot,
Drinking Pennsylvania Porter and Jameson’s
We find ourselves with them,

And at the motel
Phone ringing with 2am complaints,
Does not stop us the living from honouring the dead.

In the morning Stacy’s Chrome Garden
Soft hum needles lullaby beneath my skin,

Winged horses form a few more drops of blood for Gettysburg
While you, holding my hand as if in hospital
Think of ways to further delay our leaving

Because like me you crave the company of ghosts
And too you know the need the dead have for healing.

**

from the Ides of March Journal Vol 1, issue 3. september 2011

http://theidesofmarchjournal.blogspot.ie/2011/09/volume-1-issue-3.html

st. john st. john

View original post

W. B. Yeats, poets we like and live with – Politics by W.B.


Pdlyons's Explorations

220px-William_Butler_Yeats

Yeats has always been a favorite of what I call true poets. Luckily he was not beaten out of me in any school. Never had a Yeats exam. Although in university where I learned to love Shakespeare by being taught how too  read him, I was also exposed to Yeats in a more formal setting. But Yeats had come to me long before – O human child, Wandering Angus, Byzantium…. always on my fathers bookshelves or on the Clancy brother records. And at that early time in my relation ship with my now dearest partner – you know when signs, coincidence and such were so import to see if we really matched – I definitely   noticed my old friend, Yeats upon her bookshelves and took it for a good omen.

So while looking up Byzantium, I found this little gem – the last poem. Considered by some to be…

View original post 345 more words

Wake Up for David, Drinking milk shakes cold and long


Pdlyons's Explorations

Arcade Fire – Wake Up

Somethin’ filled up
My heart with nothin’,
Someone told me not to cry.

Now that I’m older,
My heart’s colder,
And I can see that it’s a lie….

Children wake up,
Hold your mistake up,

Before they turn the summer into dust.

If the children don’t grow up,
Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We’re just a million little god’s causin’ rain storms turnin’ every good thing to rust.
I guess we’ll just have to adjust.

With my lightnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’ to be
When the reaper he reaches and touches my hand.

With my lightnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’
With my lightnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am go-goin’

You better look down below.

Songwriters: Butler, Win / Chassagne, Regine / Kingsbury, Tim /…

View original post 18 more words

%d bloggers like this: