The Ghost of My Mother’s Lover, by pd lyons as published by Gone Lawn

The Ghost of My Mother’s Lover by PD Lyons

Sometimes I would find the things he left, loose change under the cushions, a little red box of wood matches (that my mother took away), black liquorice candies wrapped in stripped silver foil
And once a big silver skeleton key – that he really left for me.

One night I woke up, hearing his voice, his voice form my mother’s room, his voice talking and talking. I went up to the door which was not quite closed – they were in bed together. He was sitting up and mother lay with her arms around him, head on his bare chest. He wasn’t just talking
he was reading, so I sat down there in the hallway and listened about Morgana the sister of a king.
I guess he didn’t notice my mother was asleep because he kept on reading and whenever he turned the page I thought he would look right at me and smile.

I listened as Morgana looked into the water for pictures of the future and how some of the knights did not like her but there was one, one with dragons on his arms who loved her very much, how it was Morgana who taught the little girls of Avalon to serve the Goddess…And I thought I have to ask him, who is this Goddess?

I must have fallen asleep there on the floor by the door of my mother’s room because the next thing I remember I am being carried and in his arms! My face against pictures of blue stars and a black winged horse on his shoulder. His smell a little like the ocean mixed with something from
my mother’s kitchen. His muscles so great that with one arm he held me while with the other pulled back the blankets, swung me down into my bed so fast I almost laughed out loud then tucked me in.

Through my half closed eyes I could see his face coming closer and closer, then his lips touched my forehead – but soft like mother’s kiss even though his breath of smoke and prickly chin were not at all like mother. As he pulled away he said so that I could hardly hear, “Sleep well. Sleep well little Morgana.”

Then I remembered I wanted to ask him… I sat up and said “Tell me -” But he was gone
and already the light in my mother’s room put out.

This piece appeared in Gone Lawn #2, winter 2010   http://journal.gonelawn.net/issue2/Lyons.php

wrote this in the  mid 90’s i’d say.

was living with the Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Mists_of_Avalonand Starhawk’s  The Spriral dance http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Spiral_Dance .being very influential in those days

. Gone Lawn are, as of this writing actually still publishing  – http://journal.gonelawn.net/glj_about.php

as published by gone lawn

The Ghost of My Mother’s Lover, by pd lyons as published by Gone Lawn

The Ghost of My Mother’s Lover

Sometimes I would find the things he left, loose change under the cushions, a little red box of wood matches (that my mother took away), black liquorice candies wrapped in stripped silver foil
And once a big silver skeleton key – that he really left for me.

 

One night I woke up, hearing his voice, his voice form my mother’s room, his voice talking and talking. I went up to the door which was not quite closed – they were in bed together. He was sitting up and mother lay with her arms around him, head on his bare chest. He wasn’t just talking
he was reading, so I sat down there in the hallway and listened about Morgana the sister of a king.
I guess he didn’t notice my mother was asleep because he kept on reading and whenever he turned the page I thought he would look right at me and smile.

 

I listened as Morgana looked into the water for pictures of the future and how some of the knights did not like her but there was one, one with dragons on his arms who loved her very much, how it was Morgana who taught the little girls of Avalon to serve the Goddess…And I thought I have to ask him, who is this Goddess?

 

I must have fallen asleep there on the floor by the door of my mother’s room because the next thing I remember I am being carried and in his arms! My face against pictures of blue stars and a black winged horse on his shoulder. His smell a little like the ocean mixed with something from
my mother’s kitchen. His muscles so great that with one arm he held me while with the other pulled back the blankets, swung me down into my bed so fast I almost laughed out loud then tucked me in.

 

Through my half closed eyes I could see his face coming closer and closer, then his lips touched my forehead – but soft like mother’s kiss even though his breath of smoke and prickly chin were not at all like mother. As he pulled away he said so that I could hardly hear, “Sleep well. Sleep well little Morgana.”

 

Then I remembered I wanted to ask him… I sat up and said “Tell me -” But he was gone
and already the light in my mother’s room put out.

 

as published by gone lawn

http://journal.gonelawn.net/issue2/Lyons.php
Gone Lawn #2

Winter, 2010

ruff notes on a blue paper with photographs by pd Lyons

 

just another piece of my heart

 my little blue wolves

someday soon

the hunter

lonely

vulnerable

edible

will come

don’t worry

 

She on many occasions

felt an entanglement

of her own physicality

No matter how much

knowledge acquired,

philosophy believed in,

a mans world stuck in her head

and not the James Browns version.

 

our young pale fish bodies

enter paler our silver blood

occult our hearts still

 beat  mono chromatic 

          mono chromatic

          mono chromatic

porcelain knows nothing

of our muted skin

 

 

ah leave me alone, sometimes in this writing life # who knows

FUCK THIS POETRY SHIT

we the afflicted

compelled

by your numbery

to more and more outrages

until nothing even of ourselves

remains

that which we call our blood

thin clouted liquid cleverlies

that which we call our flesh

never wore a heartbeat in its life

that which you fed on nurseries

a pasteurized knee-less skin

that which you feed on

call it what you will

it is shit

we are all what we eat

 

The Ghost of My Mother’s Lover, by pd lyons as published by Gone Lawn

The Ghost of My Mother’s Lover

Sometimes I would find the things he left, loose change under the cushions, a little red box of wood matches (that my mother took away), black liquorice candies wrapped in stripped silver foil
And once a big silver skeleton key – that he really left for me.

 

One night I woke up, hearing his voice, his voice form my mother’s room, his voice talking and talking. I went up to the door which was not quite closed – they were in bed together. He was sitting up and mother lay with her arms around him, head on his bare chest. He wasn’t just talking
he was reading, so I sat down there in the hallway and listened about Morgana the sister of a king.
I guess he didn’t notice my mother was asleep because he kept on reading and whenever he turned the page I thought he would look right at me and smile.

 

I listened as Morgana looked into the water for pictures of the future and how some of the knights did not like her but there was one, one with dragons on his arms who loved her very much, how it was Morgana who taught the little girls of Avalon to serve the Goddess…And I thought I have to ask him, who is this Goddess?

 

I must have fallen asleep there on the floor by the door of my mother’s room because the next thing I remember I am being carried and in his arms! My face against pictures of blue stars and a black winged horse on his shoulder. His smell a little like the ocean mixed with something from
my mother’s kitchen. His muscles so great that with one arm he held me while with the other pulled back the blankets, swung me down into my bed so fast I almost laughed out loud then tucked me in.

 

Through my half closed eyes I could see his face coming closer and closer, then his lips touched my forehead – but soft like mother’s kiss even though his breath of smoke and prickly chin were not at all like mother. As he pulled away he said so that I could hardly hear, “Sleep well. Sleep well little Morgana.”

 

Then I remembered I wanted to ask him… I sat up and said “Tell me -” But he was gone
and already the light in my mother’s room put out.

 

as published by gone lawn

http://journal.gonelawn.net/issue2/Lyons.php
Gone Lawn #2

Winter, 2010

I cannot tell you – by pd lyons

i cannot tell you

 

soft things stir in my heart

sad smile unsolicited

as if light inside tickle

not quite laughter

free from inventory

free from speculating

a sweet savoury genuine

beyond words

 

 

welcome to the gathering…..

 

welcome to the gathering

Great support for Paddy Flood, (70 year old Irish farmer )
Supporters bringing food, tea and coffee.

 

NOT THIS FUCKIN TIME!

Spicy Steamed Mussels

Spicy Steamed Mussels.

really like this brand new blog. big A for honest effort!

pumpkin ravioli can be fun

pumpkin ravioli

can be fun

today. oz9

remember cooking is a sacred art

so second v&t a grammatic incorrection because  properly it should be G&T but only have vodka left over from the tincturing; another benefit of tincture making is that there’s always a jug of left over vodka some where. making veggie soup with white beans, side salad and some crusty bread for dinner, and listening to Kathleen Edwards Failer album while doing so, and typing away while waiting for things to boil n cook etc. soups on and about ready, beans done and added to soup, Stock: quartered onion sauteed with two crushed garlic cloves in olive oil, add rough chopped 3-4 sticks celery with leaves, a good sized carrot & a half chopped diagonally in rough thicknesses, some baby corn chopped & sauteed with other stuff.  add abt 1 quarter cup of white dry wine, ten mins or so later add a good dose (one small can) of tomato paste ,and then a pint n a half of water bring to boil n simmer while beans cook. cook beans with a few garlic unpeeled cloves n a few sage leaves ( add a few sage leaves n parsley to your soup stock as well a small handful of dried parsley) drain beans when soft, add to soup remove skins from bean garlic, and mash then add to soup; garlic should make a nice paste at this point. cook together until veg are the texture you like. serve over separately cooked al dente pasta.

tip: all recipes are starting points, a place you can jump off of. cooking without intuition is just drudge

tip#2 remember that food creates the bodies of those you love your family n yourself  ( if you dont love yourself yet then please start right now!) and that our bodies while not us are a really useful tool for the life we have at this moment.