Tag Archives: ireland

1st draft Sunday Morning in the City of Pandemica ~ by P D Lyons


written on first time back in Dublin since Feb (pandemic protocols initiated in March) on a early Sunday morning in September as i stood out from the hotel. now as of this last week of September the city is once again on restrictions.

PS for those who might not know – the Luas mentioned in the piece is a public transport akin to an above ground subway.

 

 

Here is the print ~

Sunday Morning early in the City of Pandemica

   First of all

It was a Sunday morning

In the city early

   Sunday morning early

In the city of Pandemica

   Grey Sunday early on the sidewalks of the city of Pandemica

Cool collage

Damp cool collage breezes empty streets

Unmasked sounds

Cellophane, gull,s fop fop fop

 soft shoe vague woman eyes on her own toes walks by

   What’s the time? hey buddy? hey ya got the time?

A voice of an old fella didn’t even notice at first

Too busy in my own head in my own notebook

Hey ya got any cigarette papers?

All I could say to the only one who noticed me was, No

   They took my phone and all the photos of my kids

Cost me 15 euros to get them printed

Sorry but I need a shower, so I won’t get too close

But they keep sending me down to the quays and all they want to do down there is fight

I’m 47 and I don’t want to fight any more  you know?

Any way got to go.  Good luck. God bless.by

And he got onto the Luas

 

You might love the blue sky

And I the shapes clouds make

So maybe we remember

Without clouds the sky would be alone

Without sky the clouds have no home

Sometimes it takes a mask to reveal ourselves

 

Dublin 2020

Girls by pd lyons


Girls

no need of piano

rain subdued colour late summer

maybe never stopping

curtains drawn in hope

everything soft

afternoon kisses

beloved new

knowing nothing but discovery

How like dreams now

these days too

fade.

by pd lyons 2022

my father, my mother, Yeats, golden apples & silver apples – reading by PD Lyons


read by PD Lyons poet~

The Song of the Wandering Aengus by WB Yeats & Somewhere Still by PD Lyons

The Song of the Wandering Aengus by WB Yeats from Eveeryman’s Poetry, J.M. Dent, Orien Publishing. London 1998 Somewhere Still by PD Lyons from When You Worship Swans No Longer Limited Edition, Supported by Westmeath County Arts, 2017

 

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
Source: The Wind Among the Reeds (1899)

.Noun. 1. Aengus – Celtic god of love and beauty; patron deity of young men and women. Angus, Angus Og, Oengus.

SOMEWHERE STILL by PD Lyons

Somewhere there is still a place, you sitting in the sun, concrete porch paving slabs, Cape Cod Grey picnic table, small summer savages running jumping clinging – immune bare feet impervious to sun. Skin frosted with salt, lotions, cake icing.
Somewhere children still take your hand, invite you to cross the street walk with them down to the beach, taking them sometimes instead to lunch…
Long-time companions, comforts of old age, afternoon naps, books, TV, mail order catalogues, big band music and too those ever-dangerous memories – love, marriage, a hole never in twenty-three years has time healed.
Somewhere she still takes you by the hand. Ohs your name laughs into the open window, Fifty-five Chevy, summer bright chrome. So close to flying great American V8 highways up through the Canadian border dwindling into heavy Nova Scotia sands.
There has never been an ocean too cold for her to swim in. Long after your retreat to safety – Flamingo towels, Knickerbocker beer, USMC Zippo, Old Gold cigarette spiral prayers. Gratitude at last. Unable to fathom any reason to feel bad about surviving.
Deep breath wonderful (not a god damn palm tree in sight). Watch that woman of the sea; only wish there would never have to be a time to leave.
Later she gets tipsy; acquiescing when the waiter offers to sweeten her drink no knowing here to sweeten means more liquor. Out on the dance floor, hold each other tight as you want because she’s your wife now and you always liked the Mills Brothers.
Sometime after midnight, small cedar room, Stuart tartan blankets, crisp white sheets. Strange night sounds traipsing gingham curtains. As if tiny fingers, she ohs your name. Answer back with words you never knew before.
This spring by the sea your little house will not find you. Gone now perhaps to wander just like W.B. said –
Glimmering girl once more beside you and pluck
Till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
(For: D.R.L. – with regards to W.B. Yeats, his favourite poet.)

Dublin Girl, by pd lyons


Dublin Girl

in a doorway
pale hands search
the rain for softness

who has never touched the world
with little fingers,
who has never longed to never leave,

she is always there somewhere

The sea
The gulls
The Liffey
Joyce
And the ship in the window on Berkeley road
Still
Claim
Her

.

Bagdad Dove

there is a Dublin of which i am in love with. it is a culmination of miles of wanderings and the songs and poetry my father brought to my life. Even before I ever got there it had taken root in my heart.  – She is always there somewhere.

Wishing You the Constant Joy of Your Own Song ~ by PD Lyons


 

 

Wishing You the Constant Joy of Your Own Song

The artist whose voice

still goes right through me

most exquisite of them all

I know exact and precise

As if I really knew you ~

to be forever in that moment

to be forever that creation

Where always was your joy

That is exactly where

you should always be.

 

First time  you  were 21 years old

Toads Bar in New Haven

Flew straight through

First album

One gig

No banter

No break

Your voice went right through me.

Person I was with, rest of the place,  all  disappeared.

And I knew the only joy you’d ever know

Would be the art of your own creation.

Now decades come and go

Albums now CD’s

Politics a torture

religion and Family

curses and blessings

And me someone you’ll never know

What would I wish for you if I knew that wish would come true?

 

Thought for today ~


ross’s point Ireland c pd lyons photography

Wordless Wednesday ~ Fore, County Westmeath, Ireland


enjoy some peace and quiet

all photographs by pd lyons ©2020 For more please visit, Pdlyons’s Explorations Irish American Poetry Photography Worldwide ~ pdlyons.wordpress.com

Fore Abbey

the poet PD Lyons Reading from As If The Rain Fell In Ordinary Time ~ part 3, w/text


~todays menu~
Pensioners Remiss
Knowing Now the Healing Ways
Atlantic Luncheonette 
~
themes: growing old, 1970’s, love, city
 

PD Lyons Reading from As If The Rain Fell In Ordinary Time erbacce~prize for poetry 2019 erbacce~press Liverpool UK

Pensioners Remiss – incorporates a variety of scenes from my home town Waterbury Ct. St Johns Church for example is still there on the green.

Knowing Now the healing Ways – again influenced by my hometown and my first apartment back in the 70’s. 

Atlantic Luncheonette – one of those classic coffee shops in America long before Starbucks or cappuccinos. On the corner opposite the exquisite white marble Waterbury Post Office. Many a skipped school day involved the Atlantic – strategically placed half a block from the library. How ironic, skipped school to hang out in the library. They even let you smoke in there back then but that’s another poem or two…

Thanks for spending time . Why not consider subscribing on YouTube?

cheers.

good luck

bye

!

 

  • Pensioners Remiss

When I wanted to see you,

Young and available

Dresses out amidst a blue jean wasteland

Stoned as laughter smoky charms

Dancing any moment unannounced

On the steps of Spanish little Harlem

Turquoise as your eyes church doors

Sacramental wine just opened

A spiral of possibilities each as believable as the past.

When I wanted to see you,

Roads wide open looking to ride

Strong summer muscles

 Love like horses into sunset.

 Diamonds across that midnight sky

 Alive only in your love me eyes.

Breathless barefoot pirouette

 Limitless kitchens, dull Frigidaire light.

 Icy India Pale Ale fast as you can drink.

 Third floor back porch dawn

Aegean blue amongst a city of fearlessness.

When I wanted to see you,

Saint John’s Chapel Christmas

 Balsam crushed blood velvet

Crystal choir angel

Mysterious as snow.

The mouth you used an accent of hypnosis

Lead like sorrow obsessed with green

 As if summer returned between live pines

 My hands held by your own to cup each one instead.

When I wanted to see you,

So much more so than wherever you were

Sharper than anything ever dreamed

So much sooner than now.

  • Knowing Now the Healing Ways

I could touch you then. I knew you, just around the corner you. Halfway Up the stairs, you. A single rose growing between back yard rubble, you. Travelled by Grey Hound, cross the country, park bench dreamer, double dancer Zelda, you –

A tide of whirlpools. An antebellum majorette beauty queen. You were the most beautiful woman in the world. You were me as a woman. Wanting to be the first one to make love in a whole summer of dry attics never believing for one minute we could end up on the street by Christmas in Connecticut.

I was gonna. I was destined. I was the one. I was the chosen.  Could have been Jesus, preferred to be Krishna, hoped only to be Watermelon Sugar. A thing delectable to your lips, a thing you might someday remember without lying or regret.

You were anything possible,

Meeting again someday.

Around the corner, halfway up the stairs,

Eyes still same as my own,

Knowing now the healing ways,

Strong enough for love.

  • Atlantic Luncheonette

     I walked out into a morning

 too bright against my shadows.

Three steps down I’m on the pavement

wondering just how able I am to get along –

Stable as loose change,

  balanced as a junkie on the prowl.

   Still can’t stop thinking about moving

 where it is, I’ll finally get to.

My boots are holes turning into blisters.

Cigarettes keep tempting me with immortality.

Girls across the street dare me to smile.

 I make up excuses to call what I’m eating food.

The waitress sings to the radio

 with commercial interruption asks how I am.

  My eggs keep running into hiding,

The coffee strives vainly to hiccup,

 I leave a quarter for the singer,

 a dollar for the poor.

 Ask the women on the corner, how much for conversation?

They say they don’t cater to perversions – try my luck next door.

  I bump into an old friend who asks about my wife,

I say I didn’t know I had one.

Then he’s handing me a ten spot

 says here go catch a cab.

I hand the driver a social security card

he says this ain’t worth noting unless your old.

I tell him my hearts just gone arthritic

He says here pal try a gun.

lothlorien poetry journal/2022/03/five-poems-by-pd-lyons


https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2022/03/five-poems-by-pd-lyons.html 

Thank you so much to editor Strider Marcus Jones for selecting five of my very own for Lothorien Poetry Journal. The first two I’ll include here. For more fascinating poetry from around the world and more than likely beyond click the link. Lothlorien Poetry submission guide lines are remarkably straight forward and user friendly for those of you who’d wish to have a go.

 

Lilacs Out the Windows of My Mother’s Room

 

Sometimes I’d lay across her empty bed

Tight white sheets

Bed spread folded down

 

Imagining things upon the ceiling

Letting sunlight play patterns behind my eyes

 

My arms stretch like wings

My legs as if I were a star

 

Seeing how deep my lungs could go

 

 

Returning but Not to Brooklyn Anymore

 

warm stones

cut before Norman times

silent witness now

her own alabaster hands.

 

friends of her parents

children of ghosts

funerals she herself was raised on.

Christmas outside midnight

tolling messages from her American children

repeated prayers of comfort and joy

 

mornings 

sat on the edge of her mother’s bed

sometimes joined by the ginger cat

black sweet tea

steam between their matching hands

speak softly anyway

until the day brightens.

 

narrow village miles

crisp breath another stronger winter warning

sometimes she made the high hills

 

sometimes she’d imagine someone

not her children

not her husband

someone she had yet to meet.

together they could share a like

the language of these hills

harmonic sun light

pure deep water

cake black earth

cold dancing like needles across any skin

~

new year’s day 

coffee not so bad

waiting for an early morning flight

 

by now the cat already fed

cattle already tended 

damp dogs anxious for their own

heap into the jeep 

around her mother’s feet

 

and

maybe this year

when she came back,

maybe this would be the year

returning but not to Brooklyn anymore. 

 

 

to continue with The Avalon Girl, From the House of Starlings,  my favourite dreams are of the sea

please click

https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2022/03/five-poems-by-pd-lyons.html 

DSC_1213

 

 

 

 

 

 

change is….. (Kore Chant from Starhawk)


DSC_0053

Kore Chant

Her name cannot be spoken

Her face was not forgotten

Her power is to open

Her promise can never be broken.

All seeds She deeply buries

She weaves the thread of seasons

Her secret, darkness carries

She loves beyond all reason.

She charges everything She touches, and

Everything She touches, changes.

Change is, touch is; Touch is, change is.

Change us! Touch us! Touch us! Change us!

Everything lost is found again,

In a new form, In a new way.

Everything hurt is healed again.

In a new life, In a new day.

[Repeat any and all verses.]

from The Spiral Dance  by Starhawk

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

blessed be.

%d bloggers like this: