Tag Archives: lover

alone along the border line, ruff by pd lyons


alone along the border line
cigarette struggles

her finger tips
pale lips
naked throat
moving through fields
between snow
holes where there is still water

deep within
heavy heat awakens
her lover’s name.

now when all the west is orange
clouds race black across
ask in voices lent by  winds of winter
do you
do you
do you
through the taste of midnight
into the wound of sunrise
until the evening sparkles into dawn
even when the day light spreads out broad
do you
do you
do you
still believe

and on a double edge of sacred steel,
her own voice met by  winds of winter,
she answers




pd lyons poetry project 4.5.11

The Lover Of Wisdom

He helped in the kitchen

while she was away.

   One night he was worried about the wine

her father noticed, told him

not to worry

they said it was the best place they’d been to

that they were glad to be here.

besides it was the second bottle they’d ordered.

It was then he grabbed her father’s hand, said

Are you my friend? Are you!

The towering man with black mustache

in a well-worn greasy apron said

Always. I am your friend always!

   It was evening when she came back.

He was sorting pots from the green house

packing them into the jeep

parked at the top of the driveway

when they pulled in

BMW convertible dark blue w/ tan leather

   He did not want to meet her friends.

Afraid they’d hear the beating of his heart

he stayed on the other side of the jeep

pretending to be too busy

waiting for her to come to him.

But after their long good-byes,

she didn’t.

He walked around  saw her walking

down the hill with her bags

he thought – she has not come back at all then.

   Shortly later she came back.

Sat with him on the grass

her black hair veiling them

as hunched together head to head

he opened what she gave him

wrapped in white tissues

a ball of crystal inside a ball of alabaster.

I missed you so much he said.

Are you brave enough to let me shave you? she said. Let me! I want to!.

He had not shaved since she left

and her creamy skin could not abide  a whiskered face.

Gone Lawn #2 Winter 2010 published Ghost Of My Mothers Lover

Winter, 2010


P. D. Lyons

The Ghost of my Mother’s Lover

Sometimes I would find the things he left, loose change under the cushions, a little red box of wood matches (that my mother took away), black liquorice candies wrapped in stripped silver foil.
And once a big silver skeleton key — that he really left for me.
One night I woke up, hearing his voice, his voice form my mother’s room, his voice talking and talking. I went up to the door which was not quite closed — they were in bed together. He was sitting up and mother lay with her arms around him, head on his bare chest. He wasn’t just talking he was reading, so I sat down there in the hallway and listened about Morgana the sister of a king.
I guess he didn’t notice my mother was asleep because he kept on reading and whenever he turned the page I thought he would look right at me and smile.
I listened as Morgana looked into the water for pictures of the future and how some of the knights did not like her but there was one, one with dragons on his arms who loved her very much, how it was Morgana who taught the little girls of Avalon to serve the Goddess…. And I thought I have to ask him, who is this Goddess?
I must have fallen asleep there on the floor by the door of my mother’s room because the next thing I remember I am being carried and in his arms! My face against pictures of blue stars and a black winged horse on his shoulder. His smell a little like the ocean mixed with something from my mother’s kitchen. His muscles so great that with one arm he held me while with the other pulled back the blankets, swung me down into my bed so fast I almost laughed out loud then tucked me in.
Through my half closed eyes I could see his face coming closer and closer, then his lips touched my forehead — but soft like mother’s kiss even though his breath of smoke and prickly chin were not at all like mother. As he pulled away he said so that I could hardly hear, “Sleep well. Sleep well little Morgana.”
Then I remembered I wanted to ask him…. I sat up and said “Tell me—” But he was gone and already the light in my mother’s room put out.

P. D. Lyons has been writing for a long time and hopes to keep on with it for even longer. His newest book, Caribu&Sister Stones has been published by Lapwing Press Belfast. The miracle is not to walk on water but to walk on earth — Zen master Lin Chi

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