Tag Archives: american poetry

Anorexia Nervosa poem and photography by pd lyons


Anorexia Nervosa

she has been
sacredness
to me
and in serving
her
i make an art,
of that which
words
have been forbidden
i express
on my tight
white
canvas
a tale
everyone wants
to interpret
i cling to it
like a charm
~
she has been
sacredness
to me
with secret dark
eyes closed
behind
a sea
of objects
so safe
she does not
move me
but rather
causes me
to linger
tip toe
from eternity

she has been
sacredness
to me
endowed
this ornamental flesh
a power
always yearned for
and i would
cut myself
open
for her
but this she
does not
ask for
~

this version originally published by Bone Orchard Poetry 11/2012 http://boneorchardpoetry.blogspot.ie/2012/11/pd-lyons.html

Back in the eighties I worked in a residential treatment centre in Litchfield Ct. called The Country Place. it was the first time I met people dealing with anorexia. Renee Nell, the woman who established and ran the centre was particularly interested in anorexia. She was respectfully mystified and intrigued with its manifestations and how difficult it was to treat.

 

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In My Country, by Pd Lyons Poetry


 

In My Country

 

Women walk on eggshells

The way they dress  a rapist’s defense strategy

Their silence confers consent

Their bodies always up for grabs

In every way

There is no privacy especially of the womb

They may be legally and religiously sacrificed on the altar of boys-will-be-boys

They may be murdered at will

But have dubious right to self defense

They are not heard

They are not believed

They are not counted

Their labour not valued

That they are

Our mothers

Our sisters

Our daughters

Our beloved

May be conveniently ignored

Easier then to believe,

They are property

of the male

of the party

the state

How the Green Witch Loved the Winter Man as read by the author


One for the winter days. Hope you all like it. Special thanks to Morgan for the video. From the collection of PD Lyons poetry, When You Worship Swans No Longer.

.

 

 

 

 

When You Worship Swans No Longer: Poetry by

by P D Lyons

Poetry inspired by the village of Fore County Westmeath and surrounding areas of Ireland, by an Irish American poet.

Special First Edition Limited to 150: each numbered and signed by the poet.

Price includes worldwide shipping by regular post in padded envelope.

20.00 dollars US/15 euros Ireland/20 euros rest of Europe/15. sterling

Items shipped upon receipt of order (purchase through Paypal)

Contact: pdlyonspoet@yahoo.co.uk

With your shipping information and any queries.

Additional inscription on request.

(Numbered books selected randomly)

,

Thank you in advance for supporting this project!

sometimes softly in ruff draft by pd lyons


So a few moths back as a graduation gift to our daughter we got to go back to Connecticut for a while. On the way over had the head set plugged in and listened to the Classic Rock section! Hendrix, Byrds, Dylan etc. filed a half a note book with scribbles, just getting to them now. And as i ‘m wanting to do a blog  post today i made it easy on myself and popped this little piece from what i’m doing right now – here. Hope its not to ruff for you.

 

 

sometimes softly comes to me

the smile of your long long ago joy

 

sometimes softly comes so vividly

an open car

your laughter

the sun all ripcord silk and shining 

 

Sometimes softly comes to me

a song you used to dance to

Ol time rock n roll

Doulble trouble shakes n all

A man and a woman a dock on a bay

 

Sometimes softer still

A kiss that dared

A possibility accepted

Your answers to

My questions

Long remembered

~

i love rock and/or roll

I love rock and’or roll!

.

 P D Lyons Winner of the 2019 erbacce-prize for poetry


Thank you to the judges and to Erbacce Crew. I am humbled and honored by this. Cheers Alan!

 P D Lyons Winner of the 2019 erbacce-prize for poetry

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! Below is the book we produced for him… 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: 112pages)

http://erbacce-press.webeden.co.uk/p-d-lyons/4586525519

 

Through the generous support of  Westmeath County Council a limited edition of 50 numbered and signed copies are available to purchase direct from the poet at €20.00 to include standard postage world wide.  Please click on the cover below to order via PayPal

LyonsCover

How long my own unfitting skin is the night? by pd lyons


9.30.14. fore by pdlyonsphoto

she had come down from Gunnison

it had been a hard ride

 thin air refusing to support her

 old shoes raised and popped needed to be thrown away as soon as possible

~

 met for drinks at The Last Chance

she told me brief stories 

life in the wilderness

 ways of ghosts and proud flesh

we booked a room from the man who wore the star

~

make believe log cabins

steel spring mattress

Jim Beam on the bed side

we smoke silent shapes up at an invisible ceiling in the dark

I was happy to be there 

thought she was too

~

 

but somewhere after moon light

she had gotten up

knelt by the drifty  window

to whatever she prayed all i could make out was –

 

How long my own unfitting skin is the night?

 

Now On This side Of The Highway , Sometimes I Still Think Of You, by pd lyons


Now on this side of the highway

 

I spend more time on looking back than anything

 

Turns I should have took

Places it would have been better if I stopped

 

Mostly haze as if dust and sun

conspired with fog and dark

salt and grit   steam and slick

But anyway after a million miles or so

I still see you

clear

 

As if I could convince you one more time

As if you’d still be in that same old town

 

Maybe you are

Maybe you’re still with that boy who worked the bowling pins

Bluest eyes we either saw

But I didn’t have the time to stay then

 Figure it  out

Did you really   love him

and if so was it more than me

 

See there were these wide empty spaces

Pulling like fish hooks in my heart

Wanting me in ways I never thought you could have

And now?

Ah there’s a big rig pulling over

Wonder how many miles

Driving straight into this evening sun

He’ll get me

 

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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

Trust, by pd lyons


Trust

I walk out with the horse,
She does not resist.

leads as if there’s not a diseased bone in her body.

 does not notice children crying,
rain stopping, sun brightening,
but rather a yellow butterfly –

moves her head
to keep it in sight
until for some reason she will never know,
 can no longer do so.

yellow

yellow

years ago worked for several intense years with a horse rescue rehab group in Connecticut. Sometimes there were happy endings, sometimes you had to let them go. the group is still there doing fine work for these beautiful creatures

http://www.horseofct.org/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/HORSE-of-CT/147828438582099?sk=reviews

The Humane Organization Representing Suffering Equines (H.O.R.S.E.) of Connecticut Inc., is a non-profit, 501(c)3 organization dedicated to the rescue and rehabilitation of abused and neglected horses. Over the past thirty years, H.O.R.S.E. has saved more than 650 lives. In addition to direct intervention, H.O.R.S.E. also maintains an ongoing commitment to educating the public regarding horse care.

Grandview Avenue *, by pd Lyons


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Grandview Avenue

We were walking
Hand in hand
Up the hill
In the rain

I had your bright red scarf
Wrapped around my head

Traffic swished by
Lights on
Wipers squelching

We didn’t know what the day would bring
But I turned my face up to the sky
Trusting my own two feet and you to guide me

(Waterbury Ct 2011)*

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* this is a slightly revised version as compared to that published in 2011 by Railroad Poetry Project.

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