Tag Archives: flowers

Z Wordless Wednesday ~ 30.9.20. with seashell by pd lyons




Slips ~25.1.21 #2 words and photos by pd lyons


I have lived

Long enough

To come back

Back To everything I knew When I was fifteen

Only now Certain of its richness.


How wonderful sixty-five is.




A Slip of Paper by PD Lyons





This life time bardo

With all that manifest

Coming from my self

How can I deal with it?

Either wisdom or ignorance

That is all


Simply the choice

Wisdom or ignorance

That is my truth

Distraction or awareness

That is my method


Z Wordless Wednesday ~ 30.9.20. with seashell by pd lyons




poetry & photography by pd lyons


In the Language of Flowers, It Meant We are Already Dead



Beside whatever water there was there

Over flowing bowl an undulate of green tendrils

Draped swan songs

Left morning a capture of sorrow

She reached out to nothing there

She reached out to something ridged

Pulling itself from her heart

In and out

A pornograph of pain

The table set with only bones

Memories picked clean

A criticism of cutlery

Every single question ever asked –

A useless pointlessness recycling

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…


I will whisper my heart by pd lyons



i will whisper my heart

like music

over the secrets of your skin




from Still Wishing To Be Ravens : Love Poem for Richard Brautigan 6.6.85

Love Poem for R.B.

Today I heard on the radio that Richard Brautigan

Killed himself last fall.

Then some girl who was 17 in 1970 read his Love Poem.

She said that her then lover was a DJ on a college

Station and had dedicated a recording of the poem

To her, over the air, before he disappeared in a

Californian direction.

Anyway, I don’t know where I was.

Maybe I was washing clothes or asleep even.

Maybe I was with Jenny or Eva or somebody.

I could a been drunk, or depressed

As if by some sort of intuition.

All I really know is that I’ll never know where I was

When he did it.

I wonder how he did it.

Maybe I should go down to the library look him

Up on the newspaper micro-film file?

Most likely I won’t though, the library is closed now

And I’m not sure I care that much anyway.

Besides it’s one of those details I’m sure will

Accidentally find its way to me.

It kinda pisses me off that he did it, I mean he

Wrote that Watermelon Sugar book, I read it years ago

When Mary gave it to me and I, 15 in 1970.

Watermelon Sugar and Mary my first lover go good together.

I don’t know about this suicide stuff though.

But maybe it’s nice not having to wake up alone with yourself

When you just don’t want to any more.


from: Still Wishing To be Ravens, new poems

by pd lyons

2009, Myo, Myo & Razooka

Winetown Castlepollard; Ireland

blue hydrangea

blue hydrangea


Sometime In This Writing Life, by pd lyons. from – Newish Poems



Sometimes in writing Life (2)

had to cut back on the computer

it had got pretty bad

hours of my life a day sucked away

got nothing done

got neck aches wrist aches

contacts dried out fell like glass

from now on once a week

maybe Mondays

got dressed

drove into town

picked up a case of Lebanese red

two bottles Tyrconnell 

litre of un-oaked Chardonnay for cooking

stack of legal sized pads,

2 pounds Italian coffee

it was Tuesday


liberation to celebrate.

sometimes in this writting life

sometimes in this writing life


How The Woman Alone Brought Rain To The Island, by pd lyons

How The Woman Alone Brought Rain To The Island


PD Lyons


What if the Rainbow Hunters

Reached down to her,

There in the crevice of fresh water.

Wouldn’t their grass wrapped hands

Protect her?

And the children,

What if they stood by her

In the crevice of clear water.

Couldn’t their songs disguise her?

What about the crazy ones?

What if they ran in mixed up circles around her

There by the crevice of fresh water.

Wouldn’t their waggling red hairs

Conceal her?

And the High Priest,

What if he were to return, fulfil the ancient legend,

Blessing her

There in the crevice of clear water.

Wouldn’t his centuries of prayers

Absolve her

From the wrath,

From the armed bow wrath.

From the arrow,

From the pinning arrow,

Of the warrior,

Of the sun.

from: Searches For Magic by PD Lyons, Belfast  Lapwing, 2001,

ISBN 1 898472 59 9


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