Tag Archives: ghosts

the ghost mother by pd lyons

the ghost mother


as if each son



upon this dominated land


sticks of war

lures of porno


after century


yet still there are some

knowing they are the mothers sons

dare to say –

i love you

artist unknown/pdlyons photo


paris 2016/ pdlyons photo




all tomorrow’s parties velvet underground, ghost note byy pd lyons

if i could reach back to you

each and every one of you

including my own sweet self

only now Ishmael

can I empty as your own promises

wish you somehow something soothing

true release


4 December 2009, by pd lyons

and would I know

the winter

still sliding down

silvering the window

soft whispers

smoke secrets


the kitchen fire

and all those winter fires gone before


each ghost upon the gale

welcomed here beside the hearth

each breath of my own

rare and gifted by such drifters

visible only in the smoke

audible only in the flame

I am never alone in winter


I am sending my own messages

tobaccos scented

whiskey scented

seemingly pleasing

soon like crows

I will go



Herding Goats In Ithaca, by pd lyons

Herding Goats In Ithaca

She went a way up into the high lands.
She had wounds to nourish.
Ghosts to speak to.
Her own kind to avoid.


published by curio poetry April 2012 issue 5.


It is a world of ghosts, by pd lyons


I live with ghosts.

all memories are ghosts

all the things I’ve yet to do?

ghosts to be.

I am the ghost becoming for all others,

just as they are for me.

It is a world of ghosts.

Where is everyone you ever knew?

Every thing you have ever done?

All that is this present,

All that has become past,

All that will ever be –


That is what we know

and that is what we fear.

Not because of any harm,

no ghost can really cause harm.

But because no ghost can  touch,

or indeed be touched.

That is why we continuously  deny our existence.


“Tattoo on Leaving Gettysburg” —P.D. Lyons The Ides Of March Journal Version

may all who journey remember

may all who journey remember

“Tattoo on Leaving Gettysburg”
—P.D. Lyons

For Stacy

The dead of Gettysburg reach out, soak us with desire.
Teaching us its tears that shape their ghosts.

Even down at the Blue Parrot,
Drinking Pennsylvania Porter and Jameson’s
We find ourselves with them,

And at the motel
Phone ringing with 2am complaints,
Does not stop us the living from honouring the dead.

In the morning Stacy’s Chrome Garden
Soft hum needles lullaby beneath my skin,

Winged horses form a few more drops of blood for Gettysburg
While you, holding my hand as if in hospital
Think of ways to further delay our leaving

Because like me you crave the company of ghosts
And too you know the need the dead have for healing.



from the Ides of March Journal Vol 1, issue 3. september 2011


st. john

st. john


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.














Rose of Dardanelles, by pd lyons



Rose of Dardanelles

only by hands saved
spared by a star over night
a sun to someone
a myth of multiplicity

i will keep watch until once more warm beats
your own secret single stay awake all night prayer
a pulse
a whisper
a ghost
my ear
my hands
our wounded finger prints

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 .



Soon Like Crows poem by pd lyons



Soon Like Crows

and would I know
the winter
still sliding down
silvering the window
soft whispers
smoke secrets
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.




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