Tag Archives: coffee

the poet PD Lyons Reading from As If The Rain Fell In Ordinary Time ~ part 3, w/text


~todays menu~
Pensioners Remiss
Knowing Now the Healing Ways
Atlantic Luncheonette 
~
themes: growing old, 1970’s, love, city
 

PD Lyons Reading from As If The Rain Fell In Ordinary Time erbacce~prize for poetry 2019 erbacce~press Liverpool UK

Pensioners Remiss – incorporates a variety of scenes from my home town Waterbury Ct. St Johns Church for example is still there on the green.

Knowing Now the healing Ways – again influenced by my hometown and my first apartment back in the 70’s. 

Atlantic Luncheonette – one of those classic coffee shops in America long before Starbucks or cappuccinos. On the corner opposite the exquisite white marble Waterbury Post Office. Many a skipped school day involved the Atlantic – strategically placed half a block from the library. How ironic, skipped school to hang out in the library. They even let you smoke in there back then but that’s another poem or two…

 

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  • Pensioners Remiss

When I wanted to see you,

Young and available

Dresses out amidst a blue jean wasteland

Stoned as laughter smoky charms

Dancing any moment unannounced

 

On the steps of Spanish little Harlem

Turquoise as your eyes church doors

Sacramental wine just opened

A spiral of possibilities each as believable as the past.

 

When I wanted to see you,

Roads wide open looking to ride

Strong summer muscles

 Love like horses into sunset.

 

 Diamonds across that midnight sky

 Alive only in your love me eyes.

Breathless barefoot pirouette

 Limitless kitchens, dull Frigidaire light.

 Icy India Pale Ale fast as you can drink.

 Third floor back porch dawn

Aegean blue amongst a city of fearlessness.

 

When I wanted to see you,

Saint John’s Chapel Christmas

 Balsam crushed blood velvet

Crystal choir angel

Mysterious as snow.

The mouth you used an accent of hypnosis

Lead like sorrow obsessed with green

 As if summer returned between live pines

 My hands held by your own to cup each one instead.

 

When I wanted to see you,

So much more so than wherever you were

Sharper than anything ever dreamed

So much sooner than now.

 

  • Knowing Now the Healing Ways

I could touch you then. I knew you, just around the corner you. Halfway Up the stairs, you. A single rose growing between back yard rubble, you. Travelled by Grey Hound, cross the country, park bench dreamer, double dancer Zelda, you –

A tide of whirlpools. An antebellum majorette beauty queen. You were the most beautiful woman in the world. You were me as a woman. Wanting to be the first one to make love in a whole summer of dry attics never believing for one minute we could end up on the street by Christmas in Connecticut.

I was gonna. I was destined. I was the one. I was the chosen.  Could have been Jesus, preferred to be Krishna, hoped only to be Watermelon Sugar. A thing delectable to your lips, a thing you might someday remember without lying or regret.

You were anything possible,

Meeting again someday.

Around the corner, halfway up the stairs,

Eyes still same as my own,

Knowing now the healing ways,

Strong enough for love.

 

  • Atlantic Luncheonette

     I walked out into a morning

 too bright against my shadows.

Three steps down I’m on the pavement

wondering just how able I am to get along –

Stable as loose change,

  balanced as a junkie on the prowl.

   Still can’t stop thinking about moving

 where it is, I’ll finally get to.

My boots are holes turning into blisters.

Cigarettes keep tempting me with immortality.

Girls across the street dare me to smile.

 

 I make up excuses to call what I’m eating food.

The waitress sings to the radio

 with commercial interruption asks how I am.

  My eggs keep running into hiding,

The coffee strives vainly to hiccup,

 I leave a quarter for the singer,

 a dollar for the poor.

 Ask the women on the corner, how much for conversation?

They say they don’t cater to perversions – try my luck next door.

  I bump into an old friend who asks about my wife,

I say I didn’t know I had one.

Then he’s handing me a ten spot

 says here go catch a cab.

I hand the driver a social security card

he says this ain’t worth noting unless your old.

I tell him my hearts just gone arthritic

He says here pal try a gun.

WHEN I’M GONE, WORDS & PHOTOS BY PD LYONS


 

When I’m gone

Who will know the feel of wooden handles held in bare hands

Measure the post hole deep enough below the frost line

Enjoy the scent of sweaty horses

The rain of walking home in the dark

Night rainbows

TV static

Driving 13 hours due west

Soft pack Marlboros   Full moon rearview   One van Morrison cassette

T’il dawn

Just to meet someone hardly known for breakfast

 

 

BISCUTS & GRAVY ~ 2.25

What’s grits?  a quarter

Cuppa Coffee?  a dollar

April 14-15-16 part 3 How Big is the Heart of a Child ~


 

April 14-15-16 part 3

Muffins and earl grey at Beth’s Special Teas. Cape Cod sunny Sunday wind pure fresh walk the little strip East Sandwich shops, still missing the Herb Shop but our gratitude is high for the tea Shop haven from all manner of Dunkin Dodo swill. Hot chocolate for the child. What to do with the last few hours before the drive back to Connecticut? Paradise Liquor for a 1.75 litre bottle of Bombay for 31.00. Sam’s fish shop on the canal bag of shelled scallops large as your tongue. My eleven year old daughter fascinated by the lobster tank. Can we get one dad? Can we? No. Why not? Cause I don’t want to kill one do you? No. Well then what’s the point of getting one? We could let him go. Now my daughter wants to do a Buddha thing and save this creatures life and I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to talk her out of this do I? She gives me that look, the crux look, the scan of a child reading every inch of my body, verbal and invisible language, searching for the parental cue. Is this an acceptable idea, is it not? Remember whatever you do will affect me for the rest of my life. I stall and say well you’ll have to use your own money. She says OK but its in the car. And I must  surrender with, that’s alright give it to me when we get back. So she picks out Lucky the Lobster. Out to the Jeep fish out a pair of work gloves from the back, use the Gerber to cut the bands from his claws and we all three walk over to the edge and I toss him into the canal. She can see him swimming – he’s OK! Just before we drive off seat belts belted everyone ready small fist full of single dollar bills reaches over the seat – here dad. And I think how big is the heart of a child. And I take the bills stuff them into my shirt pocket and say thank you.

 

Fuckin Bukowski, by pd lyons – with regards to the day that’s in it.


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i never knew  Bukowski. i hadn’t even heard of him for most of my life. i think i was 52 when i first read anything by him – despite work of mine appearing in print with his back in the early 80’s . i knew little about his real life but what came from the poetry (never read a novel by him) – i don’t remember his words but i still remember the rush of honest poetry i discovered there – how beauty cannot be subdued by drink drugs abuse of any kind. how the humanity of the human spirit will not be denied – even if the only place it can manifest is in the fact of not killing the cat who pisses all over you while you’re sleeping one off in bed.

the following poem was published by Caliope Nerve in October 2009, http://calliopenerve.blogspot.ie/search/label/PD%20Lyons  it was probably written in 06-07 :

 

Fuckin Bukowski

Idiot me picks now

6000 miles away at 52

To discover him

Still glad I didn’t stay in Waterbury

Find him sooner

Probably still be pukeing

Out in the after last call

Parking lot of now what am I gonna do

Or else back in jail

Or else still with one of the xes

Or else not even alive

~

Tonight just had a chicken and ham sandwich on rye

And its sometime after midnight

And I’ll probably still be up @ 6 maybe half 6

Do some yoga make coffee for the wife

Bring it to her in bed

Get some pancakes going for the kid

And be happy to do so

~

No not envious

Not regretful

Rather peaceful

Glad to be out of it

That’s the kind of poet I’m happy to live with

Now.

 

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Somehow Coming out at Robin’s House… from As if the Rain Fell in ordinary Time by PD Lyons


Originally published by Subterranean Blue Poetry this was part of the winning entriy for the erbacce poetry prize 2019. I once worked in a Jungian  residential treatment ctr. in Litchfield Ct. Robin worked there too as did Eva who got lost with me once in a dream of deep winters

Somehow Coming out at Robin’s House Where She Rescued Us with Coffee

 

That morning we walked into the snow

Across old farm lands

Over walls of field stone

The flakes large steady

Making it hard to see anything but them.

We’d stumble.

We’d fall.

Each of us

Quick to help the other.

Laugh sometimes,

Kiss sometimes.

Push ourselves forward.

Always forward.

semi shelter of thin woods,

some nameless river,

steepening ridge.

swirls of ever deepening ever dancing

mesmerised not bothering to melt snow

Clung

Like new eyelashes,

Like soft old useless flannel,

Like wishes form a childhood

Unable to be blown away

Or ever to come true.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

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: 112 pages)

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

 

And it’s just another blessing of a day by pd lyons


just another bird on the wing

Just another sun-lite breeze

Just another drop the kid off at school

Just another blessing of a day

 

And it’s just being here thinking

the best luck I ever had is you

And it’s such a little time for a lifetime

A rare jewel against eternity

so glad you choose to spend it with me

 

Miracles wander all around this place

an old dog barking at the door

horses thundering in the field

small streams pouring into deep pools

 

sure, you and I are miracles too

just like when you lie beside me

Your breath warm against me in the night

 

And it’s just a morning sun

And the coffees in the air

just another blessing of a day

Shelly I’m grateful for every single one.

 

This Morning On The Back Steps Sobbing Into Her Nightgown by pd Lyons


In the language of flowers

It meant good-bye with regrets

 

Left on the kitchen table

An emptied cup of coffee

half-eaten slice of toast

 

Hardly a hesitation

Picks up the toast

Held away between thumb and finger

Some dead thing she didn’t wish to touch

 

Steps out

Leans against the wood rail

As far as possible the offending slice

Tossed into the garden

 

As she does the wind

slams the door behind her

Startled but then relief,

Its off the latch…

As if somehow he’d known…

 

did the Yankees still have a chance for the pennant by pd lyons


Today

at the counter

pastrami on rye

coffee black

just off the peripheral

this guy and woman at a table

he was going on & on

you know right away

a bunch of bullshit

rather loudly too

I had no interest in him

or what he was selling

but she had caught my eye

noticed her the minute i came in

by the time i finished my sandwich

she still hadn’t said a word

he of course hadn’t stopped

people just tried to piss him off

daughter 13 years old competing already

lack of parenting by all others

ad nauseam

I asked the waitress for a refill and the check

turned to get a better look at them

maybe she was speaking,  just too soft for me to hear?

but no. she was just sitting there taking it all in.

no longer interested but rather sorry for her

turned to finish my coffee

wondered how long the rain would hold off

did the Yankees still have a chance for the pennant…

good morning


If morning a sea of possibility

Then life boat is the coffee

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25.3.11 ruff by pd lyons


25.3.11

 

 

today out on the veranda of all gone away youth whiskered timber dreams woke another coffee

 

1

you wouldn’t have to wait for anything to boot up

turn on or upload you could just sit down

bang away royal keys upon a cotton rag of water marked paper

 

you wouldn’t have to settle for crap wine, Bordeaux châteaux

would be easily accessible even to a low level pot dealer

 

you could get a soft pack of Marlboro that tasted good – better than the hard pack in the days before anyone even thought of lights

 the rent was 180 for five big rooms a laundry room full bath including heat and utilities

 

 you could sit on the second floor back porch blow a joint in broad daylight watch some old ginger tom prowl around some inner city orange rose bush while the most beautiful girl you thought you’d ever know sat on your lap  your hands finding ways to make her melt underneath her long gypsy soul skirt.

 

2.

 

 

girls go by to boys that somehow remind you to your own self except instead of love they sell schemes and plans and how to maximize income and output and the most beautiful girl in the place gives her precious attention to someone who won’t even make her come, too busy trying to sell her something that she won’t ever need on her death bed.

 

3.

 

don’t know what the reasons for the way we are is

don’t know how we got to be so far away from where we were

but there’s a time a  place for everything

there’s a never ending ever changing way of everything

so they say and who are they for us to disbelieve when we can see it in our selves
we cross the street together out of step we walk up stairs without noticing our own eyes

we can’t get on because all we want is something we remember way back there

 

 

4.

 

so much can happen when we live long enough

so many things we thought were no possible could have come to pass

but not believing in the future

did we not live grandly in the past?

 

my mother wanted things for me I did not believe in

my father wanted me to somehow not be a worry

my regret is only that being so inarticulate I could not explain

how I could love them but not want to ever become them

 

5.

cannot manage this consistency too well

I know your chimes of freedom flashing

I am the outlaw child of all these blue collar working class heroes

I am not them but am eternally grateful to them

all they gave of their own unrequited youth so that I could be the rebel born

and I will not forget you and I will not neglect you

and I will raise your soft n hidden heart to my own pure unbridled lips

my kisses unconcerned with the blood of my mother and my father

I will cherish your suffering transformation into peace.

 

6.

whatever went winkingly down the stairs clinkily

open and wondering wounded and proud

never more thinkingly would she be drinkingly

 out on the balcony summers no more

 

 

7.

how many times have I thought to see you there?

after all these years – damn near 40

don’t I still imagine; come down the wooded path way bend

  by that pond you’re somehow  there

 

ghosts haunt the places that the living know

it has nothing to do with where they died

ghosts haunt this place where I grew up

where I first saw you naked

 and you broke my heart open before I even knew I’d love you

 

I know I won’t ever see you now

but if promises can be made to ghosts

then someday soon I’ll meet you here again

golden apples silver apples

pine needles on a summer day patch of grass back by the old turtle pond

 

8.

 

today I do not want backward

I know there is no such thing as then or later

 and now’s so fleeting it hardly exists

 

I know the moon

calls me on the road of no stone no sand no steps

 

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mix medi m&p lyons a

 

 

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mix media collage with crayon m&p lyons

 

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mix media collage with carpet m&p lyons

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