shadow of crows from the tree disappears behind me to the sky she had crystals hanging in nearly every window of the house purified energy – coming in, going out Mystic Connecticut, the town not the sea port she bought me one for my car that little shop just by the draw bridge had it for years, hung from the rear view mirror one car to another to another
I’ve no idea where it is now though or how I came to part with it disappeared maybe it’s with that lock of her hair she gave me? actually a braid cut from her first hair cut when she was… maybe late twenty’s Called me a stupid jerk when she found out I’d lost it
Another shadow; like crows, like Connecticut, like herself disappears behind me to the sky
days when my father took milk and sugar leaving the spoon in his coffee my mother whistled among lilacs and roses mahogany furniture kept well polished special knives and forks only used on holidays
I knew the name of Lilly of the valley not to ever put them in your mouth
there were kittens in the sun porch we watched born from a tabby cat named Felix
there were cherries from our backyard tree so red I thought they were black, tasting like no cherries ever would again
The Girl Next Door By PD Lyons
When I remember Third floor windows Tall white lace sails Summer all running in our veins Her mother in the kitchen Making cool aid and plate full of something Cookie sweet to eat
She wanted me to stay I was afraid, wanted to go home But didn’t want her to know Not wanting to be in this house of too many windows Overlooking the valley
But she wanted me to stay Besides the rains begun Going to be a real storm Already rumblings a darkening horizon
her mother agreed I’ll call your parents. They won’t be worried. You can stay for supper. You like hot dogs don’t you?
that was how I learned not to be afraid of storms Not to hide from thunder or lightning Frances and her mother, exuberant Ohs ahs joy over every Menacing vibration sudden crash Every flash veining skeletal zigzag
shadow of crows from the tree disappears behind me to the sky she had crystals hanging in nearly every window of the house purified energy – coming in, going out Mystic Connecticut, the town not the sea port she bought me one for my car that little shop just by the draw bridge had it for years, hung from the rear view mirror one car to another to another
I’ve no idea where it is now though or how I came to part with it disappeared maybe it’s with that lock of her hair she gave me? actually a braid cut from her first hair cut when she was… maybe late twenty’s Called me a stupid jerk when she found out I’d lost it
Another shadow; like crows, like Connecticut, like herself disappears behind me to the sky
So the other day sorting out book shelves and come across a 1990 Magazine called Hobo Jungle ~ a Quarterly Journal of New Writing. It was published by Ruth Boeger/ Marc Erdich in Roxbury Ct. The reason I still have it? Well they were one of the first to publish my work and the very first to send me a check for my poetry. In fact I’m sure I still have a xerox copy of that check in some box some where in then house. Any way the point is flipping through I cam across a striking piece of work which led me to look up the poet and write asking if I could reprint their work here and so with permission of this very fine artist I will blog the 2 poems and give some links to their bio and website. The first one is in my opinion a perfection of the micro~dot poem. Ruthlessly elegant and mercilessly immersed in reality. The short poem is almost impossible to be read out loud and remain effective although I’ll give it a go along with the other piece further on but first read it silently out loud to yourself. Thank you for your time.
Davyne Verstandig was a lecturer in English and Creative Writing at the University of Connecticut. (retired June 2020 after 25 years.)
Her books include two books of poetry, Pieces of the Whole and Provisions and her work appears in Sex and Sexuality in a Feminist World, Songs of the Marrow Bone, Where Beach Meets Ocean, This One Has No Name, The Monday Poets, and the forth coming anthology with an introduction by Margaret Gibson, CT Poet Laureate, Waking Up to the Earth, Connecticut Poets in a Time of Global Climate Crisis.
She has also performed improvisational work “composing on the tongue” painting and poetry at The Knitting Factory and Housing Works Café in New York City and given readings throughout New England.
She gives writing workshops at Wisdom House Retreat Center in Litchfield, CT. and at Camp Washington Episcopal Retreat Center in Morris, Ct.
Books available on Amazon, some at The Hickory Stick Bookshop, Washington, Ct. Pieces of the Whole – poetry Provisions- poetry Anthologies Sex and Sexuality if a Feminist World This One Has No Name The Monday Poets Laureates of Connecticut, An Anthology of Contemporary Poetry Waking Up to the Earth, Connecticut Poets in a Time of Global Climate Crisis
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…
Thanks for spending time . Why not consider subscribing on YouTube?
cheers.
good luck
bye
!
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.
days when my father took milk and sugar leaving the spoon in his coffee my mother whistled among lilacs and roses mahogany furniture kept well polished special knives and forks only used on holidays
I knew the name of Lilly of the valley not to ever put them in your mouth
there were kittens in the sun porch we watched born from a tabby cat named Felix
there were cherries from our backyard tree so red I thought they were black, tasting like no cherries ever would again
The Girl Next Door By PD Lyons
When I remember Third floor windows Tall white lace sails Summer all running in our veins Her mother in the kitchen Making cool aid and plate full of something Cookie sweet to eat
She wanted me to stay I was afraid, wanted to go home But didn’t want her to know Not wanting to be in this house of too many windows Overlooking the valley
But she wanted me to stay Besides the rains begun Going to be a real storm Already rumblings a darkening horizon
her mother agreed I’ll call your parents. They won’t be worried. You can stay for supper. You like hot dogs don’t you?
that was how I learned not to be afraid of storms Not to hide from thunder or lightning Frances and her mother, exuberant Ohs ahs joy over every Menacing vibration sudden crash Every flash veining skeletal zigzag
So the other day sorting out book shelves and come across a 1990 Magazine called Hobo Jungle ~ a Quarterly Journal of New Writing. It was published by Ruth Boeger/ Marc Erdich in Roxbury Ct. The reason I still have it? Well they were one of the first to publish my work and the very first to send me a check for my poetry. In fact I’m sure I still have a xerox copy of that check in some box some where in then house. Any way the point is flipping through I cam across a striking piece of work which led me to look up the poet and write asking if I could reprint their work here and so with permission of this very fine artist I will blog the 2 poems and give some links to their bio and website. The first one is in my opinion a perfection of the micro~dot poem. Ruthlessly elegant and mercilessly immersed in reality. The short poem is almost impossible to be read out loud and remain effective although I’ll give it a go along with the other piece further on but first read it silently out loud to yourself. Thank you for your time.
Davyne Verstandig was a lecturer in English and Creative Writing at the University of Connecticut. (retired June 2020 after 25 years.)
Her books include two books of poetry, Pieces of the Whole and Provisions and her work appears in Sex and Sexuality in a Feminist World, Songs of the Marrow Bone, Where Beach Meets Ocean, This One Has No Name, The Monday Poets, and the forth coming anthology with an introduction by Margaret Gibson, CT Poet Laureate, Waking Up to the Earth, Connecticut Poets in a Time of Global Climate Crisis.
She has also performed improvisational work “composing on the tongue” painting and poetry at The Knitting Factory and Housing Works Café in New York City and given readings throughout New England.
She gives writing workshops at Wisdom House Retreat Center in Litchfield, CT. and at Camp Washington Episcopal Retreat Center in Morris, Ct.
Books available on Amazon, some at The Hickory Stick Bookshop, Washington, Ct. Pieces of the Whole – poetry Provisions- poetry Anthologies Sex and Sexuality if a Feminist World This One Has No Name The Monday Poets Laureates of Connecticut, An Anthology of Contemporary Poetry Waking Up to the Earth, Connecticut Poets in a Time of Global Climate Crisis
Disappearing Behind Me Into Sky
