Tag Archives: lovers

A Mandala of Dinosaurs, A Message of Lovers, A Mostly of Crows by pd lyons


DSC_2753

A mandala of dinosaurs   A pestilence of motorcyclists.

A red sky of warnings   A coyote of marzipan.

A zygote of intelligence   Crystal of Elan-ists.

Soda of psychopaths   Preponderance of dictators

Herald of crows   Kansas of superpowers

An eclipse of educators   Blessing of coffees

An autumn of smudges   A winter of geese

A summer of topiaries   A spring of dreams

Empire of penises   A squander of vaginas

A catapult of efforts   A plethora of crows

An envy of ravens   A parcel of pachyderms

A coagulant of desires   A   Mercury of fish

Kick-start of starlings   Meandering of serpents

Bucket of worms   Sack of cats

A giggle of girls    Shyness of boys.

A Saladin of wisdoms    A crisis of faiths

A plague of religions    Carpet of bread crumbs

Sanctity of prisoners    A rats-ass of carers

Trombone of sex    Conglomerate of crows

A pudding of infants     A declaration of sea shells

A tumble of puppies      A cartoon of kittens

Meander of mysteries   A half league of words

A complaint of crows      A severance of hopes

An ignorance of drivers    A Shenandoah of daughters

A crux of sons     A crossing of souls

A delightful of crows     A smatter of kisses

A moonbeam of tongues   A secretion of secrets

A message of lovers.

 DSC_2751

 

Advertisements

ruff notes w/ Turkish coffee, by pd lyons


So sometimes I am in this place of what I call incognito poet. Like even if you could or would want to follow me every minute of the day(s) nothing remotely  resembling writing of any kind goes on. Maybe email stuff or lately working a final edit on a collection but nothing else is going on. Certainly nothing poetical.

The days are fine, or not. The drink is occasional or more. The life goes twitchy tumble or smooth and fine a something silky with out the death or torture of a single worm.

so

it goes

sitting up with the 6 o clock coffee

another morning reminiscent of the one before

for no apparent reason

i get these lines in my head

a lonely lovers kinda of thing

four or five lines

by the time i think i should jot it down

you know its gone

 

well not quite all

there is a bit of a linger ~

 

your tears like stars found light in the dark

 

and I think yeah I can work with that

~

Turkish coffee

well

the morning owes me that

maybe later I find something to write on

maybe

but you know if you cave in to the muse

won’t she despise such boyish weakness

never chase any woman

even if you don’t end up arrested

you’ll be rejected

so

maybe

 

 

Your

tears

like stars find

light in the dark

nothing else

 

.

 

DSC_3208

Ruff Off The Cuff, by pd lyons


what can you tell me about rain

tap dancing

corrugated

shed roof rain

slivering down the corners

dampening

the last broken bale

harsh it was even whispering

riveting it was even slowly

step by step

unable to do anything but follow

as if there were a drain

instead the blocked up holes

someone who once stood naked and in love

warmth unsubedued

cold hard earth

a wonderment of contrast

a derelict of absence

 

DSC_1386

oldest tree fore westmeath

 

Lovers w/ the Cello Player, by pd Lyons as published by A New Ulster Magazine


IMGP0005

 

Lovers w/ the Cello Player

envy of every straight male
hugged by those knees

arms for which the word sinew was invented
hands entwined by pure blue vines

exquisite needles drawn from every inch
spread through
return to

our randomly occurring bodies
until this moment never knowing anything

 

DSC_8601

 

 

Photo Credits :

1) morgan lyons, The Arming and Departure of the Knights, one of the Holy Grail tapestries http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Grail_tapestries

2) pd lyons – unknown artist, Wasworth Atheneum, Hartford CT.    http://thewadsworth.org/

https://sites.google.com/site/anewulster/issue-twenty-nine

 

In Death if Dreams Be Loved, by pd lyons


Paris doorway pdlyons photo

Paris doorway pdlyons photo

In Death if Dreams Be Loved

she had stayed awake before
afraid of her own dreams

now 5:30 in the morning
he had come to her
so real she cursed god
for his death

until once more when sleep had taken her
without words he came
sat with her on deep scorch-less grass

head to head
 bright his eyes kept her breathless
until once more was gone

DSC_1192

I Will Know You Always, by pd Lyons


Another lovers poem. Somehow even these days it is the lovers that remind me of Paris. No matter what, it is the lovers…

DSC_1241

artist unknown.Paris.pdlyons photo

once when love was finger tips

participating every new inch of you

how could I know silence

wound like slippery tongue holds

keeping secrets no longer

than the hard erect penis of worth while

afternoons

all golden like they always said

all forever like they all said did not exist

as long a there is breath

I will know you

~

only through muscle sweat cum voice

could our bodies ever be so gentle

whispers too loud

our tears slow in wonder

our separation

distant legend

unavoidable prophecy

both irreparably exposed as lies

as long as there is silence

I will know you

~

always

DSC_1317

Paris.pdlyons photo

not soldiers , by pd lyons


pdlyons photography

pdlyons photo

 

 

they are not soldiers terrorists victims fundamentalists political religious communist empire builders – they are lovers friends sisters brothers mothers fathers infants toddlers adolescents elderly wise asses genius and then they were not that either-

 

 

unknown photographer

photographer unknown

 

%d bloggers like this: