WHAT WOULD THE MID NIGHT DO, poetry by pd lyons

WHAT WOULD THE MIDNIGHT DO

What would the midnight do with fingers?

Braid your hair while you were sleeping,

Pick green apples from the trees,

Count the legs on centipedes?

Prick them on a whitethorn hedge

Seeking out the vixens den?

Weave   the  constellations new again?

Touch your dreams with deeper meaning?

Select an ancient instrument of bone,

Dedicate that music to the moon?

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~#

 

 

 

morgan knows, poem by pd lyons

Morgan Knows

The night has its own creatures

Familiars like foxes, bats,

Owls, green eye cats

And others more unique –

Those without a day time shape

Shifting shadow colour forms

Billow through dissolving walls

Entwine upon her outstretched arms

Fed on darkness through the night

Until there’s nothing left but light

~

Full Moon Not Since Ohio ~ pd Lyons poetry

Back in 2016 I was at the Castle Arch Hotel in Trim. It was my honour to be included with over 30 poets, writers, artists in Boyne Writers Group twentieth issue. After listening to almost everyone else read I got up to deliver in my typical shaky fashion my  own piece. Thank you to Orla Fay editor and to the Boyne Writers Group for supporting my work by including it along side their own really cool stuff. Anyway here’s the piece and why not check them out on Facebook , in person or in print? Back in my ancient youth I got to drive those seemingly endless great American highways. this piece represents a reminiscence of such times. thank you  for reading. good luck . bye!

 

Full Moon Not Since Ohio

hey I know you.

how longs it been?

84-85 wasn’t it?

interstates all the way to morning

bright in my rear-view.

 

now all these years later

all these extra miles

not even the same continent

here you are again

exactly the same

not so about myself but

still driving

still late night

 

now all of a sudden you.

do you want something?

do you have something?

to tell me?

to ask me?

or like before

just hitching a ride for the fun of it

enjoying the miles

silent but for a smooth gasoline engine

not even the radio on

pdlphoto

 

The Boyne Writers Group publish ‘Boyne Berries’, a journal of poetry and prose, twice a year in March and September. The group meet twice monthly in the Castle Arch Hotel in Trim, Co. Meath. The group was founded in 2006

https://www.facebook.com/Boyne-Writers-1606560752955790/

http://boyneberries.blogspot.ie/

WHAT WOULD THE MID NIGHT DO, poetry by pd lyons

WHAT WOULD THE MIDNIGHT DO

What would the midnight do with fingers?

Braid your hair while you were sleeping,

Pick green apples from the trees,

Count the legs on centipedes?

Prick them on a whitethorn hedge

Seeking out the vixens den?

Weave   the  constellations new again?

Touch your dreams with deeper meaning?

Select an ancient instrument of bone,

Dedicate that music to the moon?

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~#

 

 

 

outlaw days, by pd lyons

Outlaw Days

Rode through forests so dark
Could only let the horse pick the way.

Called down the moon,
Draped in silver arms,
Goddess whispering across every inch of skin my name:

“Remember what you know.
Remember you are power.
Know that I have missed you.”

ah the days of outlaw goddesses and roses

the only silver needed was the moon

the only answer

yes

a thousand molly bloom type yeses

what else could I say to the one who truly knew my name?

probably written in the early 90’s

Woman Shapes, by pd lyons from once we knew the darkness

with wings

 

 

Woman Shapes

dapple grey
helixed tree
any shadow of the moon.

 

sometimes by pd lyons

 

 

 

sometimes all i own fit in an old ford pickup

no one for company

just a full moon filling my rear view

four apples 2 packs a marlboro in reach

and in the mountains first signs of winter crystallize  audible

above the heater

 

 

 

 

 

morgan knows, poem by pd lyons

 

Morgan Knows

The night has its own creatures

Familiars like foxes, bats,

Owls, green eye cats

And others more unique –

Those without a day time shape

Shifting shadow colour forms

Billow through dissolving walls

Entwine upon her outstretched arms

Fed on darkness through the night

Until there’s nothing left but light

mid summer moon 2 & 3

with wings

 

 

 

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
  Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
   Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
   With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
   There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
  Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight

 

http://www.shakespeare-navigators.com/dream/T.2.1.html