Pdlyons's Explorations
along marvellous streets
the girl walks on her toes
sneakers let the ballet peer out with wonder
amid this morning garden slipping into the shade
who is it gives you pentagrams
whispers water lily secrets
when your mornings get too heavy?
Leaving the Stars behind
I call you flower by moonlight
you call me cypress by spring
I watch you from evening
change grey misty morning
across the spider down day
16 3. 73.
cheese sandwich & white wine breakfast
try to keep these pages from the mayonnaise
I am not really a poet,
I just can’t write long stories
~
How plain
this poem
about breakfast
so
boring
like a painting of a bowl of fruit
or something.
April 27, 1978
No matter what,
If I sit still, there is peace.
Today’s offerings:
The sun brought warm gold
The sky unlimited sapphire
Cloud white pearls
The birds rainbow song
The water in my glass pure crystal
A breeze soft cool silk
My eyes brought seeing
Ears – hearing
Nose – scents
Mouth – tasting
Body – feeling
Mind – thinking
Breath – breathing.
Awareness – Ah
My heart – practice
.
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
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
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
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
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
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
along marvellous streets
the girl walks on her toes
sneakers let the ballet peer out with wonder
amid this morning garden slipping into the shade
who is it gives you pentagrams
whispers water lily secrets
when your mornings get too heavy?
Leaving the Stars behind
I call you flower by moonlight
you call me cypress by spring
I watch you from evening
change grey misty morning
across the spider down day
16 3. 73.
apples from France
pdlyons photos
Black and green bowl with squiggles from: The Christmas Tree Shop, Sagamore Cape Cod
So it comes to this –
Look back right now
your whole life
all that done, not done, un-done
and all that resulted –
you did the best you could
and maybe no one ever said that to you
and maybe no one ever will
but you
and when you do,
say that to yourself,
observe fearlessly
and you ‘ll know its true
you did the best you could
quiet
soft
acceptance
the beginning of peace
Dear Contributors,
yellow wasps angry buzzing in but rarely back out the kitchen windows
maybe unable to remember it’s only august and wild apples by the dozen still lay strewn along the back garden.
rugosa roses stretch up the stone of this house
where through the last while of the day
sun hits strongest.
sometimes my own fingers search out along those warm textures as if
attempting to discover something they need to know until
I must say thank you right out loud with out even figuring out who to.
in the almost tallest tree, Morgan’s birds wait.
they have time to be patient, preening, cackling, shifting branches
occasionally engaged in soft arguments,
remind me of some vague song until
like a shipwreck in the sky they rise.
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