STAR NOTES
The house turned into a squat brown man
Got up walked away.
What was there – where the house once was
What remains – that is very interesting.
When illusions getup & leave
Walk, fly, melt away
What is left, what’s behind, what’s there
That’s the thing
Life/death/the original psychedelic
Acid trip.
Knowing how to deal with acid
One learns how to deal with life death.
“There is no passing away
No coming into existence” – Diamond Sutra
What is sacred
Cannot be written
Cannot be spoken
Beyond all degrees of separation
Is the sacred.
The language of accountants
Have no say.
The Druids were Taoist
In their way.
The body that is not me
The ego that is not me
I thank y ou for you are no curse
But rather opportunity.
This is the body
This is the ego
Gives me the chance
If I did not need them
They would not be.
In this world
Its not what’s real
That can hurt you.
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Together we sleep in one another’s arms.
As if that safety protects us from the world.
Between our breathing and our heart beats
all the brutality of the day
each night melts away.
And should the world find us so vulnerable?
Our accord is this;
always our side arm within reach.
Our promise,
to deliver each other into the protection of death
freed forever then from harm.
This is how we live
Now
This is how we l ove.
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took all those souls forgotten
enveloped deep silver soothing breath
sweet like pure mineral water
cool for the sake of comfort
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“He repeated until his dying day that there was no one with more common sense, no stone cutter more obstinate, no manager more lucid or dangerous, than a poet.” ― Gabriel García Márquez
spring
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By pdlyons
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Posted in poetry project , re: poets
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Also tagged danger , dying , Gabriel García Márquez , garter , life , litchfield , love , photo , poet , sex , snake , whites woods , will robinson
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No matter how hard I wait,
Rain won’t stop any sooner.
I can focus on streaming bay window panes.
Or distance, green as it is rolling up to a still bare tree line.
Or even something unrelated like a little pile of shit left by the neighbour dog.
Could I stand here all day?
Instead get dressed,
Yoga later or maybe not at all.
There is a softness an absence of anxiety allows.
A nonchalant free from worry over what to do,
When after all there is nothing –
Things will remind me no matter what I choose.
Tears a lot like rain,
Seem to never stop until they do and
Then they don’t
Again
.
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took all those souls forgotten
enveloped in a deep silver soothing breath
safe from all shackle fundamentalists
sweet like pure mineral water
cool for the sake of comfort
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took all those souls forgotten
enveloped in a deep silver soothing breath
safe from all shackle fundamentalists
sweet like pure mineral water
cool for the sake of comfort
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I am dead already
~ So
there is nothing really to worry about
~ Although sometimes I still forget
think of myself as living
things to do
places to go
achievements to achieve
people to please and all
eventually I come around
focus by saying
” you don’t have to”
usually that’s enough to bring me back to what is
~ Other times,
especially if I have forgotten for maybe days,
years, occasionally decades
it takes stuff a little stronger not much though, you know
just say out loud to my so-called self;
“you are already dead “
helps me relax
brigs me round to that expansive place of what is
a pleasant space of truth
by pd lyons
from ~ As If the rain Fell in Ordinary Time, 2019 erbacce-press
nyc pdlyons
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