Tag Archives: ghost poem

whenever I cry you’re still there, by pd lyons

indian pipe @ sleeping giant

indian pipe @ sleeping giant

might be a moment in winter

a tinsel a star gone astray


maybe first color of Autumn

geese not yet on the wing


might be your birthday’s in April

someone with curls in their hair


or maybe someone with roses

whistling all summery with out a care?


there’s not really any rhyme or reason

not really any way to prepare


whenever I cry I see you

whenever I cry you’re still here




Ghosts of My Summers, by pd lyons




Ghosts of My Summers

Ghosts of my summers walk by
Long pink skirts trail
Roads of my youth
Still there, yet some what changed
As if each and every memory plays out again
This time
A different boy
Meets a different girl
Once you
Once me
Still June.














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



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:


indian pipe @ sleeping giant

indian pipe/ ghost plant  @ sleeping giant



Big Lorraine, by PD Lyons – a ghost poem



Big Lorraine



I dreamed my love had found me
my children gathered too
put down all their weapons
eased their hearts cried their fill
then they began to play
like they did when they were young
and when I woke I’d forgotten
all my dreaming days were done.

I went down to make the coffee
sat by the open window
ran my fingers through my hair
thought I heard somebody talkin’
voices carry on the air
birds out over the ocean
rising silver like a prayer




Big Lorraine is in Cape Breton Nova Scotia, Canada. In one of those vast woodland logics of Cape Breton, Big Lorraine is much smaller a town than Little Lorraine is. In fact I don’t think there’s more than a house or two visible from the highway.  Maybe it was different back in the day? Anyway Cape Breton is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever lived in.  There are many ghosts along the rugged coast and through out the highlands where sometimes they don’t even get a town left standing for them. So this is a ghost poem and it is obviously for Big Lorraine.

I’d say this was written in 2003 or maybe 4. A version appears in Caribu & Sister Stones : Selected Poems by PD Lyons, selected by Deirdre Kearney, Published by Lapwing, Belfast, 2009. ISBN 978-1-905425-90-7 .



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