Tag Archives: lough lene

Should The Question Beg For Answer, by PD Lyons


lough lene

lough lene

 

Should The Question Beg For Answer

will the water be beautiful?

will I thank every drop of the sea?

the sky, will  it  be so blue,

I’ll find ships sailing in the clouds?

and emerald and hawthorn

would I lay down there again?

~

rise to wander mists by fairy lakes

secret women drift in sleek wolfhound shapes

lead by old and limping men

between hedgerow  and dirt lanes

~

speak with mallard fox and  swan

their stories told of long ago

when black cats and tabby cats,

small black terriers through stone walls and brier

sure and steady tacked

all possibility of horses

~

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one day when we were on our second year back in America, Shelly turned to me and asked “Do you think we should go back?”  I immediately wrote this poem, after saying  “Yes. Today. “

what is not magaic?

what is not magaic?

 

 

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Come Down From Your Hills, by pd lyons


Come Down From Your Hills

Come down from your hills and see me
Remind me when I was a girl
Tip my kisses with honey
Bathe my feet in your curls

Soft green grass in showers of gold
Apple blossoms swirl like snow
Echoing laughter my hands on your face

Come down from your hills and see me
Remind me when I was a girl
I’m tired of long wool skirts
Tired of wobbly shoes
Tired of being a stranger afraid to remember you

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versions of this poem published by the following:

Longford Ireland www.virtualwriter.net/  

  Scotland  http://www.ospreyjournal.co.uk/

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The Winter’s House In Windtown, by pd lyons


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The Winter’s House In Windtown

Saturday the witches came
haggard hoary bristly three
and in the kitchen at the sink
incanting charms and pantry spells
resorted themselves to true beauty

and walking by the lake again
cut bouquets of certain weeds
grown only on forgotten graves
taunted frogs with transformation
lured from whispering reeds
wood duck, heron, silent swan
cupped and rubbed soft feathered chins
left them fast asleep invisibly protected through the night

upon their fingers velvet bats
sang busy beeping songs
until blown away with kisses.

then made it back for midnight tea
around the blazing fire
wood rum, pale cakes, spiced ales
nettle cheese, fresh sliced pumpkin, acorn soup, roast chestnuts
honeyed mushrooms, steaming cups of coffee coco

and greeted right well all
unknown travelers of the night
but none so well as the stray tabby cat
intent on playing catch the porch pixies
bounded slid across the polished floor
and before she could correct herself and flee?
clear bowls of cream
cooked river fish
petted, stroked, and secret named
til red cushion velvet by the fire purred herself to sleep

and on the first faint sign of sunrise
a final toast of elderberry
helped to do the tidy up
before slightly stumbling up the stair
to find their way beneath the duvets of my creaking bed

 

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