The Yearning / El Anhelo , a snippet by pd lyons

so back in bed with the morning coffee. needed to make some poetical notes, rummage for a piece of paper . found a hardly used note book from 2012 in the dresser drawer as one does. anyway scribbled what i needed to and then found this little bit of a poem. thought; should blog it. later in the kitchen doing some clean up popped on a CD hadn’t played in years Carrie Rodriguez, the last song on the cd done in Spanish. “La Punalada Trapere”. Had no idea what it meant but thought it might be cool with the poem. in looking for a you tube to post here, found one with her doing the song live on a radio show, she tells the interview where it comes from, her great aunt Eva Graza.

so here is the poem, which i would title “The Yearning / El Anhelo “, which is not about the song and the two versions of the song which is not about the poem but somehow of course they go together with my morning coffee, my kitchen chores and my long illustrious life. from here in Ireland. adiosa. mind how you go & watch your back.

 

all night

waiting

nothing but moon light and stars

where is the one who loves me

where is the the one I love

 

 

all night

 waiting

nothing but moonlight and stars

only the night

only the night

only the night

hears me whisper

over and over

his name

 

 

5.Sept.2012

 

The Yearning / El Anhelo , a snippet by pd lyons

so back in bed with the morning coffee. needed to make some poetical notes, rummage for a piece of paper . found a hardly used note book from 2012 in the dresser drawer as one does. anyway scribbled what i needed to and then found this little bit of a poem. thought; should blog it. later in the kitchen doing some clean up popped on a CD hadn’t played in years Carrie Rodriguez, the last song on the cd done in Spanish. “La Punalada Trapere”. Had no idea what it meant but thought it might be cool with the poem. in looking for a you tube to post here, found one with her doing the song live on a radio show, she tells the interview where it comes from, her great aunt Eva Graza.

so here is the poem, which i would title “The Yearning / El Anhelo “, which is not about the song and the two versions of the song which is not about the poem but somehow of course they go together with my morning coffee, my kitchen chores and my long illustrious life. from here in Ireland. adiosa. mind how you go & watch your back.

 

all night

waiting

nothing but moon light and stars

where is the one who loves me

where is the the one I love

 

 

all night

 waiting

nothing but moonlight and stars

only the night

only the night

only the night

hears me whisper

over and over

his name

 

 

5.Sept.2012

 

Phoebe, the tabby cat who lived in the shed, By pd Lyons – English/Irish/French

 

Phoebe

the tabby cat

who lived in the shed

the semi savage

yet ever grateful for the feed

is dead

~

and i am feeling so alone

and i am so sorry

sorry for the whole fucking world

i am

~

crying like a baby

no matter what

everything ends in tears

and the next time…?

the next time…?

~

je répondrai

je répondrai

oui

Phoebe

an cat tabby
a bhí ina gcónaí sa chaillfidh
an Savage leath
ach bhí riamh buíoch as an bheatha
marbh

agus tá mé ag mothú mar sin féin
agus tá mé leithscéal sin
leithscéal as an domhan fucking ar fad
tá mé

ag caoineadh cosúil le leanbh
is cuma cén
Críochnaíonn gach rud i Tears
agus an chéad uair eile ...?
an chéad uair eile ...?

je répondrai
 je répondrai
oui


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

Phoebe

Le chat tigré

qui vivait dans le hangar 
le sauvage demi encore 
jamais reconnaissants pour l'alimentation 
est mort

et je me sens si seul et 
je suis tellement désolé 
désolé pour tout le monde 
putain je pleure comme un bébé
 
peu importe ce que tout 
se termine dans les larmes

Et la prochaine fois ...
la prochaine fois

je répondrai

je répondrai

oui

The Yearning / El Anhelo , a snippet by pd lyons

so back in bed with the morning coffee. needed to make some poetical notes, rummage for a piece of paper . found a hardly used note book from 2012 in the dresser drawer as one does. anyway scribbled what i needed to and then found this little bit of a poem. thought; should blog it. later in the kitchen doing some clean up popped on a CD hadn’t played in years Carrie Rodriguez, the last song on the cd done in Spanish. “La Punalada Trapere”. Had no idea what it meant but thought it might be cool with the poem. in looking for a you tube to post here, found one with her doing the song live on a radio show, she tells the interview where it comes from, her great aunt Eva Graza.

so here is the poem, which i would title “The Yearning / El Anhelo “, which is not about the song and the two versions of the song which is not about the poem but somehow of course they go together with my morning coffee, my kitchen chores and my long illustrious life. from here in Ireland. adiosa. mind how you go & watch your back.

 

all night

waiting

nothing but moon light and stars

where is the one who loves me

where is the the one I love

 

 

all night

 waiting

nothing but moonlight and stars

only the night

only the night

only the night

hears me whisper

over and over

his name

 

 

5.Sept.2012

 

Happy Anniversary 18 years! (part 2) bravest of the brave,

love of my life

 

 

 

“Fisherman’s Blues”

I wish I was a fisherman
Tumblin’ on the seas
Far away from dry land
And its bitter memories
Casting out my sweet line
With abandonment and love
No ceiling bearin’ down on me
Save the starry sky above
With light in my head
You in my arms
Woo!I wish I was the brakeman
On a hurtlin’ fevered train
Crashing a-headlong into the heartland
Like a cannon in the rain
With the beating of the sleepers
And the burnin’ of the coal
Counting the towns flashing by
In a night that’s full of soul
With light in my head
You in my arms
Woo!Tomorrow I will be loosened
From bonds that hold me fast
That the chains all hung around me
Will fall away at last
And on that fine and fateful day
I will take thee in my hands
I will ride on the train
I will be the fisherman
With light in my head
You in my armsLight in my head
You in my armshttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VKouBHarIo

 

 

Some years later, Mrs. Ansonia Feathers made the arduous journey to Hodgeman County to visit the last resting place of her only daughter. William Munny had long since disappeared with the children… some said to San Francisco where it was rumored he prospered in dry goods. And there was nothing on the marker to explain to Mrs. Feathers why her only daughter had married a known thief and murderer, a man of notoriously vicious and intemperate disposition.

and when they come for you?

When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.

When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.

When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I wasn’t a Jew.

When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.

(Wikiquote, see^[3])

Author

Martin Niemöller was a German pastor and theologian born in Lippstadt, Germany, in 1892. Niemöller was an anti-communist and supported Hitler‘s rise to power at first. But when Hitler insisted on the supremacy of the state over religion, Niemöller became disillusioned. He became the leader of a group of German clergymen opposed to Hitler. In 1937 he was arrested and eventually confined in Sachsenhausen and Dachau. His crime was “not being enthusiastic enough about the Nazi movement”^{[citation needed]}. Niemöller was released in 1945 by the Allies. He continued his career in Germany as a clergyman and as a leading voice of penance and reconciliation for the German people after World War II. His statement, sometimes presented as a poem, is well-known, frequently quoted, and is a popular model for describing the dangers of political apathy.

We received word that a company was hired by danskbank to move onto Paddy Floods home to remove farm machinery and scrap cars ect over the weekend. We have barricaded the front entrance and Paddys friends and neighbors kept watch at the gates overnight. This is an attack on rural Ireland, an attack on a very vulnerable 70 year old man by a foreign bank.
Paddy made every effort to pay off a very small loan ( not a mortgage ) but the bank refused his offers,Please head to hilltown, castlepollard co.westmeath
Call 0863826299 for directions.

http://www.facebook.com/meath.antievictionireland

HAPPY EASTER?

 

April 24, 1916

The Provisional Government of the Irish Republic

We declare the right of the people of Ireland to the ownership of Ireland, and to the unfettered control of Irish destinies, to be sovereign and indefeasible. The long usurpation of that right by a foreign people and government has not extinguished the right, nor can it ever be extinguished except by the destruction of the Irish people. In every generation the Irish people have asserted their right to national freedom and sovereignty: six times during the past three hundred years they have asserted it in arms. Standing on that fundamental right and again asserting it in arms in the face of the world, we hereby proclaim the Irish Republic as a Sovereign Independent State, and we pledge our lives and the lives of our comrades-in-arms to the cause of its freedom, of its welfare, and its exaltation among the nations.

NOWHERE DO THEY MENTION OWNERSHIP BY THE EU, BANKS, OR ANY POLITICAL PARTY!

http://www.facebook.com/meath.antievictionireland

Maybe its time to stop harping around?

 

 

James Connolly

 1899

After Ireland is free, says the patriot who wont touch socialism, we will protect all classes, and if you won’t pay your rent, you will be evicted same as now. But the evicting party… will wear green uniforms and the harp without the Crown… Now isn’t that worth fighting for? –

( Dudley Edwards, Ruth, James Connolly, Gill & Macmillian, 1981, p.31.)

 

 

 

Henry VIII, Second harp issue as king of Ireland, 1541-1542.
Some rights reserved: Classical Numismatic Group, Inc. hppt://www.engcoins.com

 

 

Maybe its time to stop harping around?

Just because we take away the term “King” doesn’t mean we’ve solved the problem of oppression.

 

 

 

 Not ancient history, just history repeating itself:

 

Luke Byrne – 07 March 2013

A terminally ill woman, who was subjected to a failed eviction attempt, will leave her home if emergency accommodation can be secured……

http://www.independent.ie/irish-news/ugly-scenes-as-eviction-of-dying-woman-abandoned-in-clontarf-29114649.html

Just saying!

 

 

Irish Winter part 3 of 3 Hitler Heaven

 

true power – when dark and light unite

 

 

Today a bit of sun. Enough for the house plants to take note and be watered. A load of laundry to be hung, after repositioning the tipping over clothes tree. Put on another load of laundry, meditation by the window incense and Buddha nature as far as far as far can be…

Now fire stared table cleaned I sit here typing again. \Work some poems? At least continue edit for Bassa Nuvo. Maybe work on s’little russia, its needing major over haul for the Basso collection.

 

My mother went to Italy before she died. After she died I don’t know where she went. Despite her Roman Catholic insistence, dragging us off to church, vigil candles before the infant on her bureau, even my fathers contribution on the Irish side… I did not believe in heaven or hell or very much in that god of the bible – a little to human in his despotic approach to governing. I’d a probably signed up for the republic n joined the Lucifarians. But when my mother died I remember praying, crying, hoping at the risk of my own self like “god if you’d take my mother to heaven I’d gladly go to your hell”. Like please let her find what she believed in. Let it be the way she thought it would be. I don’t care about me but let heaven be heaven for her. You know a variation of take me instead. I’ll hope heavens real even though if it is then hell’d be real too and well I wont be surprised if I’d end up there. But what about my mother would heaven be a place without her child? Maybe. But I think she had some of that old time stuff you know you get to meet your loved ones again in heaven. I guess it could get complicated like you die and want to see your loved ones in heaven but what if since you left them they became evil? Or what if the ones you loved didn’t necessarily love you? What about that gorgeous one you had a crush on but couldn’t stand you? Is one persons heaven another persons hell? what about Hitler’s mother? Maybe she loved her son? Maybe she will love him forever and in her heaven he’d be with her? What would the neighbours think of that? Maybe each person gets their personal heaven and all the loved ones are kinda illusionary? Like the part of Hitler before he got evil would be the part that would be with his loved ones? But then wouldn’t heaven be based on a lie? Fuck it. All I know is I loved my mother and I wished and continue to wish that she was not too surprised by what happened after she was released from her cancerous body full of suffering. All I know is I’d gladly go through hell if it would help the one who gave me birth be where she deserves to be.

 

May all beings be free of suffering wherever they may be whatever they may be – now.

 

its not my birthday any more. I’ll never be 52 in this lifetime again. so how different is it? I like 53 for some reason. I like the sound of it. 52 seems kinda white breadish but fifty three – a little like a sharpened steel. Fifty three, seems to prowl through the environment, seems to be a more sure footed creature, confident of each place it puts its feet, able to look things right in the eye. No regrets.

 

you cant go with your thoughts even if you try.

you only think you can.

the thoughts rise pass fall

each begins the cycle anew. you think you can go with them making plans worrying defining good n bad self n other but really

no matter how profound or elaborate no matter how many seemingly stung together, the weave no matter how intricate precise is only woven out of smoke.

your true nature cannot go with thoughts even if you try.

 

 

 

 

Irish Winter part2 : pants (intimate)

There is no fire and its cold. I ,usually so phobic of the cold ,today don’t mind. Welcome cold let me feel the small pain of knowing I’m still alive. happy to be so. of course I’m wearing my fingerless yak hair gloves from Darcy’s, Michelle’s over sized brown jumper form Jones – over a denim shirt over a maroon tea shirt; a pair of Levis brought back from last years trip to the states, blue wool walking socks, n a pair of regatta waterproofs. And why is it a pair of pants? Is each leg a pant and therefore you have a pair? shouldn’t it just be a pant? It must be that each leg is a pant, therefore I’ll put on my pants. maybe originally they came separate? Un-joined like long socks? Pair of socks makes sense. Two make a pair. I put on one my sock then the other and if they match it’s a pair. If they don’t is it ,or are they, still a pair? Can you have a pair of unmatched socks? Maybe if they’re not on you they’re not a pair but once you put them on they are even if the don’t match? I’m wearing a pair of un -matching socks? or is it unmatched. I’m wearing a half a pair of socks on each foot? anyway why a pair of pants, I’m not wearing two pants I’m wearing one blue denim Levis pant.

 

Lapwing is editing a new collection of poems for publication. I had thought it might be ready this year which would have made it 8 years since they did Searches For Magic. Its been about 10 month now I think, more than a baby. Oh well horses take eleven months. In fairness I sent Dennis about 200 poems, basically the contents of caribou and sister stones that I self published via LuLu. Well I’m grateful for his interest. was hoping he’d print soon so I can attempt to do so public reading and have product to sell. The LuLu is mad expensive for shipping and blah blah blah.

 

I have been too intimate with my life for regrets. I was happy for that thought, it freed me from the erroneous belief that life must have regrets. I have had dreams that didn’t come true, things I felt so sure of that turned out to be not so, but how would I wish away any of my closest friend, my own life, my own self experience? If I were to have only one minute to relive before I die – would I waste time saying OK but not this one not that? I liked the little boy who lived for a while w/ no siblings, I liked the shy boy who got slapped around in school, I admired the courage that teenager had to drop acid to smoke dope to fall in love without any restraint to write a life time of poetry, I felt protective of the young man in jail, scared for the one who registered for the draft, and for the one who loved women, who loved the whole idea of women who loved the exploration of the most mysterious beautiful being called women and who mostly always ever seemed to create pain…

I have been too intimate with my life for regrets. It is a beautiful day, it is a good day to die, it is another day deserving gratitude to all who were my mothers and fathers, all my teachers, benevolent and wrathful formal and informal.

I am here in this beautiful land with my beautiful partner and our beautiful daughter and today I’m 53 years old. woo hoo!

 

there is a beauty even in the grey