Tag Archives: dreams

With Alessandra

With Alessandra


time travels softly

across the river

sun pours

volcanoes of night

suck away the day

ghosts rise hungry

clean olive scented bones

in another sleepless night

                                                                                 along this land of green dreams




liberation from suffering is a DIY situation

suffering comes from the erroneous belief in what is not true and striving to maintain that as truth. suffering is a delusion but like a dream it can still cause fear which in turn causes more delusion more suffering. dealing with fear the antidote of which is awareness of the truth, that’s the process of becoming free from suffering. what is true?

for starters how about this – everyone who has ever lived has or will die. this includes everyone you  know including yourself. that is truth. that’s the beginning of liberation – sitting with that for a while. seeing if that causes you more or less suffering than not contemplating it. See if there is a way to sit with that truth without it being a cause of suffering? can you? does it?

give yourself no preconceived notion. give yourself the space and time to sit with the truth, your truth and see what its like for you.

as the saying goes – Food off another’s  spoon will not nourish your wisdom.

In other-words accept no spoon fed answers. challenge all belief assessing their truth through your own self. liberation from suffering is a DIY situation.



thanks for the inspiration sorry about the preach. cheers.


remembered a dream i had last night by pd lyons


someone i didn’t know had come to the front door

 told me you were looking for me

on horses we used to own

i couldn’t believe my luck

went to meet you

took those trails we used to take

certain that’s the way you’d come

raced the river

edged the narrow ridge

ducked low hung branches

even found

the old red barn

the wild turkey barn

the shelter from the rain barn

surprised  after all these years-

it hadn’t changed at all



Siane Part 2 , by pd lyons

Siane. Part 2




When I was born I saw the world through the eyes of a crow. For at least three maybe four days. On the day the crow returned my soul to my body I was able to see again through my own eyes. The first person I saw through such eyes was she who was my nurse. When I was older she told me of this event. Explained how I was special because usually crows do not return such a lost or stolen soul. That children’s souls are so sweet they are usually eaten right away. But she had this feeling about me and stayed by me constantly during those days so that my worried parents might try to get some rest. I asked her if it was because my soul was not sweet that it wasn’t eaten. She laughed and told me that even the most wicked person was born with a sweet soul.




So what did I see when I saw through the eyes of a crow? Well one day as I was still child enough that all chairs were big enough for me to curl up in, I did so in the kitchen. Staring into the fire I heard the voice of my nurse, softly, tenderly she spoke and quietly falling asleep still hearing her voice I began to dream. And she, from whom I have never had reason to doubt and from whom I have only known loyalty and love, this is what I told her from my dream state about those days when I saw through the eyes of a crow:



A great grey sky almost to rain. Leaves gone to colour muted by soft and steamy morning. While Below, arched like great green cat backs, farming lands bordered by trees rowed up like man soldiers behind walls of stone which long ago toilers of these fields had so piled. Then as if in memory I saw them, those man-things building walls. Stones like teeth, roots like tendons pulled from a dark open earth. Then as if in further memory I saw those same lands in a time before the man-things, a time when all was tall forest, hard wise wood forests before the man-things came….



But now its only overgrowth, sapling and briar borders along these scrubby pastures where I must keep my attention. Now my vision follows the lay of the land, rolling down to a small valley curling with a silver stream then over again until directly below me a field just before the water slips into the woods. It is a field now for the dead of men. Vivid in an otherwise dull landscape their blood pulls at me. A rare moment – Not only much flesh but none among them upright, none to bury these fallen in the ground as if some seed to sprout anew. Now they are still, delicate, exposed, but I cannot let my vision linger long. There are my comrades feeding, they will leave aside some favourite scrap for me. But I cannot let my vision linger long. I the watch must keep… Until, finally my turn. I hear the call “Come. Come. Come.”. My legs tense with a will of their own, push off. The earth happy to see me rushes up in greeting and with a jolt I’m standing wide awake before the kitchen fire.



ancient water dreams, by pd lyons

ancient water dreams

sister our tears


mars our hearts


yes there will be another summer – poem by pd lyons

Bridget Shields Rose

Bridget Shields Rose

Warm summer evening

Soft summer breezes

Stars through the windows

Warm steady breathing

Secretly dreaming

My love asleep in my arms


photographer unknown

photographer unknown

In Death if Dreams Be Loved, by pd lyons

Paris doorway pdlyons photo

Paris doorway pdlyons photo

In Death if Dreams Be Loved

she had stayed awake before
afraid of her own dreams

now 5:30 in the morning
he had come to her
so real she cursed god
for his death

until once more when sleep had taken her
without words he came
sat with her on deep scorch-less grass

head to head
 bright his eyes kept her breathless
until once more was gone


the Valentino Dress, by pd lyons




the Valentino dress

of my dreams


well oiled



midnight soft sand whisper

his O shaped mouth

barely audible above the glittering stars I lean back into







Looking for Work in Dublin by pd lyons as published by The Legendary




Looking For Work In Dublin

The same girl sitting on different buses going by over and over I knew if I saw her one more time the rest of the world would completely liquefy and go with her. Wishing to avoid that whirlpool of a thing I knocked back the coffee, paid and left keeping my eyes firmly focused on the sidewalk made my way to Eccles Street. Sidewalk, crosswalk not daring to look up risking my life in the traffic like a blind man saving the world.


In the crumbling doorways tilted columns boarded windows planning permission posters all along the way safe to be looked at on the right side of the street I had no fear of buses as the decaying signs of Eccles street lead me down to the Georgian centre for saving the ruined life of city boys saving ruins among the ruins 90 days repairs a lifetime then out with you maybe meet again in some emergency of violence queued up amidst the hospital flu wishing you weren’t here.
there must be some as yet undiscovered carpet to sweep you under.


On my helter skelter straight way down to the bus station maybe O’Connell street. instead some nameless to me slope of a road not too far is that the tower of Ulysses where once Telemachus watched black mass Mulligan sacred shaving interrupted by old Ireland who may have forgotten her own tongue but remembering to bring the milk had her tits compared to moocows and other things I cannot now remember. everything old once was new like some profundity this rolls around in my brain tickling something in me I’m not sure of any more than why.


Cutting across I decide on O’Connell, I am afraid of the city only now when I am so indecisive about destinations as if there is some gang of violence waiting for that sign I send of not knowing where I’m going. Jackals of the lost man wandering seeking safety in the numbers of O’Connell, safe among the herds, oblivious to the old, ignorant of the new. penniless. No merchants sanctuary, a foreigner among the African languages and Friesian competitors, children named Rosalitta frown then smile, German hippies Burberry plaid guitars,


Somehow I don’t belong except to old bullet holes on the GPO, rusted tin enamelled placards above the discount shop on Talbot, soldier statues, new inns ward, eroded Grecian friezes on greasy brick work, stained glass window cracked holes. Noticing no one seems to notice like me wanting to some how take the time to repair myself, remind myself, inquire of the passer byes as to whom they attribute freedom to.


We are in a hurry to forget, do our best to not remember.
There has never been another day like today
There has never been another way
It has always been so
World without life

A long cat stretch beach of green benches
Cobble stone tides break debris from yesterday’s storm
Soggy cardboard
Bleached pigeon bones
Desperate for sunglasses
Into the leather sleeves of my dreams




another published by the good folks at the legendary (May 20, 2010. Issue 17.) http://www.downdirtyword.com/authors/pdlyons.html#ps   

this would have been written in 1998 my just having moved from the states to Ireland. I had little knowledge of the city at the time which for me is the most inspiring time of any city – ones first experiences with a foreign land.

once the sky was big enough, by pd lyons

Once The Sky Was Big Enough

almost the colour of smoke among clouds
young rains ancient wind dances of electricity
unlike them we never touch the ground again

cradled by blue gravity bodies arched into transparency

how many eyes
how many tongues
how many hearts and dreams
how many places where screams refuse to go

we have all touched the world with little fingers

some suffer wounds incurable
some meet death not even worried enough to be surprised
who ever thought we’d live long enough to be alone
here in rooms where nothing moves and open only into other rooms
rooms where no one ever should have been, yet could not be refused

surprised through unwashed windows everything below almost familiar

I knew people going to live forever change the world
names I can not always now recall ways I can not find
places no longer there unrecognizable even in daylight


If you live long enough no one will know what you’re talking about.




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