Tag Archives: galway

How You Look Today, by Pd Lyons


How You Look Today

you ask for
softer clothes
something
complimentary
to nudity
you remember
types of
warm
lips
firm fingers
drapesing rhapsodly
you think of time
patiently
savouring lozgenly
past loves
live moments
even regret
luxurious
soon wrapping
silk confidence
check mate your way out
silver day bright
sheer white
high altitude blue
a waiting

blue hydrangea

blue hydrangea

first published by the Galway Review 12.11.12

http://thegalwayreview.com/

Newish, by pd lyons


DSC_8901

even if I told you
even if you believed
would it make a difference
would it change the things that made me , me?

if the ocean would have a name
would it be the one you gave?
not by tongue alone
but browned skin
salt sting
surrendered willingly
expressed audibly
 by  simply rhythmic breath?

~DSC_5907~

the sea made her way
snuck up river
dared an overland short cut
crossed the lake
hitched a ride over the high land
to where the old man sat
 against white stucco
Cuban cigar smoke shaping summer’s first day of heat

 

right away she began
whispering rolling waves
sounds of silver birds
stars like diamonds
pure black
as if traveling among them there would never be another horizon

behind his eyes the old man simply smiled
oh ribbons of smoke softly audible ahs

at which she paused
saw him then as he truly was
and knew all she could ever  do
was return from whence she came
never to kiss his pale grey eyes again

DSC_0046

July 23 14

once we knew the dark, by pd lyons, title piece


title piece from working manuscript:

Once We Knew The Dark, by pd lyons; Cúirt Annual 2005 version

 

DSC_9557

Once We Knew the Dark

No matter where days may differ but darkness is the same.

What if I lead you by the mouth?

Places underwater you could breathe in

Fingers taught on instruments stranger than bones

Drawn by strings reminiscent of words long ago

Familiar colours since extinct.

When winter was all there was could you find reasons to celebrate?

No matter how elaborate windows intricate trees harmonic songs

What does it take to lure a silver sun?

Bleaktitude chased

Hot whiskey voices

Oak wood smoke

CúirtRed berry holly

Slender secret ghosts vulnerable to love.

If it were long ago and my name was Jesus

Would you change your name for me?

Would you be my Mary?

I have become food for other creatures

Things I never knew existed indulge themselves in me

Grey not white birds mark my passing secret self

No evidence during that time of my existence

Yet even so something still remains:

A dying ember tenderness unquestioned.

 

Drawn to the wound in you moon strong as my own

A thing to be fingered or fucked a place to meet or loose ourselves.

What makes me want to reach in wonder what shape your creatures take as I do?

Unlike them others, reverse rodents unable to stay,

I’m not afraid. I know nothing survives the future.

Why wait for secrets? When we forget enough we die.

 

~

 

for: Loretta ’73

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

West47 was a print magazine published by the Galway Arts Centre. they were very kind to me during the few years that we knew each other. they had an annual anthology in which poets previously published during the year were eligable to have work selected. the annual  would then be released as part of the Cúirt International Festival of Literature . Once We Knew The Dark, was a poem i wrote in 1972-3. a litany of re-dit and streamlining around an essentially pristine theme, the core of which remains unchanged 30 odd years on. i really liked the work it took to make this and was very pleased to see it in print. a high school muse on many a math class afternoon, Loretta, as i have mentioned previously, was and is true cool.

 

with wings

Cúirt International Festival of Literature:

http://www.cuirt.ie/en

indian pipe @ sleeping giant

indian pipe/ ghost plant  @ sleeping giant

 

 

Once We Knew The Dark, by pd lyons; Cúirt Annual 2005 version


 

DSC_9557

Once We Knew the Dark

No matter where days may differ but darkness is the same.

What if I lead you by the mouth?

Places underwater you could breathe in

Fingers taught on instruments stranger than bones

Drawn by strings reminiscent of words long ago

Familiar colours since extinct.

When winter was all there was could you find reasons to celebrate?

No matter how elaborate windows intricate trees harmonic songs

What does it take to lure a silver sun?

Bleaktitude chased

Hot whiskey voices

Oak wood smoke

CúirtRed berry holly

Slender secret ghosts vulnerable to love.

If it were long ago and my name was Jesus

Would you change your name for me?

Would you be my Mary?

I have become food for other creatures

Things I never knew existed indulge themselves in me

Grey not white birds mark my passing secret self

No evidence during that time of my existence

Yet even so something still remains:

A dying ember tenderness unquestioned.

 

Drawn to the wound in you moon strong as my own

A thing to be fingered or fucked a place to meet or loose ourselves.

What makes me want to reach in wonder what shape your creatures take as I do?

Unlike them others, reverse rodents unable to stay,

I’m not afraid. I know nothing survives the future.

Why wait for secrets? When we forget enough we die.

 

~

 

for: Loretta ’73

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

West47 was a print magazine published by the Galway Arts Centre. they were very kind to me during the few years that we knew each other. they had an annual anthology in which poets previously published during the year were eligable to have work selected. the annual  would then be released as part of the Cúirt International Festival of Literature . Once We Knew The Dark, was a poem i wrote in 1972-3. a litany of re-dit and streamlining around an essentially pristine theme, the core of which remains unchanged 30 odd years on. i really liked the work it took to make this and was very pleased to see it in print. a high school muse on many a math class afternoon, Loretta, as i have mentioned previously, was and is true cool.

 

with wings

Cúirt International Festival of Literature:

http://www.cuirt.ie/en

Soon Like Crows poem by pd lyons


DSC_8765

 

Soon Like Crows

and would I know
the winter
still sliding down
silvering the window
soft whispers
smoke secrets
between
the kitchen fire
and all those winter fires gone before
each ghost arrives upon the gale
welcomed here beside the hearth
each breath of my own
rare and gifted by such drifters
visible in smoke
audible in flame
never alone

 

wrote this the first winter having moved back to Ireland from the states. we were living in Galway a small town called Barna on Galway Bay. Galway Review was kind enough to publish this along with four others. for me the ghosts of Ireland like those of all places are busiest during the winter months.

http://thegalwayreview.com/2012/11/13/five-poems-by-pd-lyons/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barna

 

Anarchist by pd lyons


DSC_8628

 

Anarchist

black beret
rich with pleats n buttons
green down to the floor coat
wait in line for the coffee machine
young women at the nearest table
quartet study group
ponder the ability of children
to reach the alphabet
good crows of the Spanish arch
some crumbs left for the sparrows
through 100% UV protection
waves the open ocean
new world
across the bay
somehow the difference now has come
without effort
and all those stories never told
up in tobacco
cross the causeway
reach out into the disappeared
and all those stories never told
up in tobacco
cross the causeway
reach out into the disappeared

 

as published in The Galway Review : http://thegalwayreview.com/

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i went this way before – by pd lyons


galway bay

Galway bay

I went this way before

same green

same rain

and grey horses backed against the wind

no matter what happens in the big world

the grass green

the rain falls down

and when it doesn’t

sure we wont be here anyway anymoreDSC_8796

its not too bad under the rainbow either


DSC_8741

Michael Burke – Three Poems


Michael Burke – Three Poems.

last october note


Last day before the school break. Morgan gets her week off from school again for Halloween, her birthday. Dress up for the last friday, no uniform today! We walk to school by the sea shore as usual, up the stone road to the main road and school. She runs off to play in the school yard. All the children dressed up, skeletons and witches classics still win out but plenty of cats, ghosts, and un-deads – but not a single Frankenstein. We sit on the bench, Michelle and i, waiting for the bus into Galway City. Its the first frosty morning. Its the pale pinks and greys breaking up over a restless bay. Its the season. Remembering.

dont make me cast a spell on you!

dont make me cast a spell on you!

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