Tag Archives: morgan

morgan knows, poem by pd lyons


Morgan Knows

The night has its own creatures

Familiars like foxes, bats,

Owls, green eye cats

And others more unique –

Those without a day time shape

Shifting shadow colour forms

Billow through dissolving walls

Entwine upon her outstretched arms

Fed on darkness through the night

Until there’s nothing left but light



with wings

morgan knows, poem by pd lyons



Morgan Knows

The night has its own creatures

Familiars like foxes, bats,

Owls, green eye cats

And others more unique –

Those without a day time shape

Shifting shadow colour forms

Billow through dissolving walls

Entwine upon her outstretched arms

Fed on darkness through the night

Until there’s nothing left but light


with wings

morgan muses by pd lyons


Why We Like Kind Of A Hurricane Press… Morgan’s Birds by pd lyons

Dear Contributors,

I am pleased to inform you that Poised In Flight  is now out! The print edition is available for purchase through Amazon.com ($7.50 plus s&h), : http://www.kindofahurricanepress.com/. Just click on the “bookstore” page link in the main header.
And while you’re there, be sure to check out our other upcoming anthology themes and deadlines. We are doing seven this year!
Thanks again,
A.J. Huffman
editor, Kind of a Hurricane Press
In the almost tallest tree, Morgan’s birds wait.
sky near full blue but for clouds come from all the way westtangled up with sea shape breezes tasting salty even here.


yellow wasps angry buzzing in but rarely back out the kitchen windows

maybe unable to remember it’s only august and wild apples by the dozen still lay strewn along the back garden.


rugosa roses stretch up the stone of this house

where through the last while of the day

sun hits strongest.

sometimes my own fingers search out along those warm textures as if

attempting to discover something they need to know until

I must say thank you right out loud with out even figuring out who to.



in the almost tallest tree, Morgan’s birds wait.

they have time to be patient, preening, cackling, shifting branches

occasionally engaged in soft arguments,

remind me of some vague song until

like a shipwreck in the sky they rise.


Morgan Poem by pd lyons



the Dogs Bay empty on a grey day

curves a wide scythe of sand

mimicked slopes of rocky hills dissolve again in low grey sky.


the Dogs Bay rings silver laughter a treasure of pearls

beautiful daughter darts like a needle between sea and sand

strangers no choice, stopped in their tracks , infected smiles.


not since the Indian Ocean where she learned to walk

not since Cape Cod where she learned her heritage

not since Cape Breton where she learned of treasure

has she now Connemara remembered


another oz9 day

So all quite on the autumnal front. hazy kinda fuzzy sunlite afternoon. working on my newest poetry collection “Still Wishing To Be Ravens”. Lapwing has sent me final proofs of new book. Morgan n I are on the cover. 64 pages of poetry. Dennis says he should be able to send me a batch in a week or so. Then i guess its read and sell to my adoring public.  Great yoga session and did meditation. Morgan kept me company she sat tucked up in our bed while i used the bedroom floor. She was reading Dr Who magazine and the magic pony stories.


cover photo

Tonight most excellent Shell will make her most excellent fish pie, tastes so much better than it sounds, pieces of smoked cod, plain cod, haddock, salmon, prawns, some diced carrots and peas all cooked in a basic bechamel sauce with smoked cheddar and some whole grain mustard mixed in at the end, a mashed potato topping with some grated nutmeg and a few knobs of butter that melt and make a crispy crust on top. best served with a nice cold dry white wine.

Stay tuned for pie photos and up dates.

Morgan is tucked up on the couch by the fire watching Night At The Museum and other stuff, while sipping herbal soother remedies. Still a lingering cough. But at least no fever.

Now print out rough draft of “Ravens”. Then a  walk by the sun setting november lake all oranges and pinks muted by rolling steel waves…

Tip: check out A Road Full Of Ducks, by Tantra Bensko at calliope nerve. amazing piece of writing!!!!!!!




it's alive - yeasties in action!

morgan and i

made bread



ready steady bread...

20. october oz9

winter workshop

winter workshop



grey rains across the lake

even the fire duller now

as if unable to breath the airless air of your absence

not the anxiety of waiting

not the impatience of worry

something though stranger

knowing not wondering

your absence has no remedy

Moved things around for winter working this morning. a good hard stormy night into an equally rainy day. a long yoga mediation session, then down to the kitchen get a soup on for shelly, her favourite carrot (of course) this time even i liked the result. usually cant stand the stuff. move from the kitchen HQ to the front room. set up ‘puter and such. dog and cat each tucked up in their own separate armchairs. poked around on the emails, checked some new potential publishers but pretty restless un focussed for that so did some writing, a little example of something fresh is printed above. shelly got home for lunch, happy to have a hot soup and a fire. Calliope Nerve did put up two of my poems thanks for that!


Pensioners Remiss

When I wanted to see you

Young and available

Dresses out amidst a blue jean wasteland

Stoned as laughing smoky charms

Dancing at any moment unannounced

On the steps of Spanish little Harlem

 Turquoise as your eyes church doors

Sacramental wine just open

A spiral of possibilities each as believable as the past

When I wanted to see you

Roads wide open looking to ride

Strong as summer sweat

 Muscles love like horses into sunset

 Diamonds across that midnight sky lived only in your fuck me eyes.

Breathless barefoot pirouette octagon tiles

 Limitless kitchens  by dull Frigidaire ice cold India ales

 Fast as you can drink ‘em

 Back porch third floor dawn Aegean blue

Away among a city of fearlessness

When I wanted to see you

Saint Johns Christmas balsam scented crushed blood velvet

Crystal singers choir of angels

Mysterious as snow the mouth you used

For me an accent of hypnosis lead like sorrow  obsessed with green as if summer surfaced between live pines

 And the first breasts I ever saw

 You stripped for the reservoir

My hands held showing me to cup each one instead

When I wanted to see you

So much more so than

Where ever you were

So much sooner than now

Fuckin Bukowski

Idiot me picks now

6000 miles away at 52

To discover him

Still glad I didn’t stay in Waterbury

Find him sooner

Probably still be pukeing

Out in the after last call

Parking lot of now what am I gonna do

Or else back in jail

Or else still with one of the xes

Or else not even alive


Tonight just had a chicken and ham sandwich on rye

And its sometime after midnight

And I’ll probably still be up @ 6 maybe half 6

Do some yoga make coffee for the wife

Bring it to her in bed

Get some pancakes going for the kid

And be happy to do so


No not envious

Not regretful

Rather peaceful

Glad to be out of it

That’s the kind of poet I’m happy to live with


ever onward something goes

ever onward something goes

Last night started to read Morgan a new story before bed time. we sat by the fire on the sofa for this, i had read it to her a few years back but she didnt remember until we got to the door : round painted bright shiny green with a brass door knob in the middle –

Oh yeah! says Mor, the green door I remember that! So we read the Hobbit by the fire – up til 10pm school night and all! forgot the time i did. a timeless story after all! My daddy gave me the lord of the rings – how many years ago? i was probably 13 or so. any way morg remembers the green door. weird what stays with us. looks like we just like Bilbo have an adventure coming our way. shellys interviews with employers in the states go well. one offer already being formalised and sent to her for consideration. exciting. must be good to be recognised by your professional peers as being “just what we’re looking for” opportunity beckons. America, hopefully a little different from our last go. at least it’s not Bushmerica, as much. all the ghosts that wait for me though. thank god I got a buddha nature. om

25 sept.

morgans newest poem

morgans newest poem

sept.19. herbal

So today began with rain.  lovely soft grey glow through the sky light. todays big challenge – Morgan and i are going to make bread. yeast bread. i’ve made soda breads in the past, spelt, wheat no problem. Morgan still calls it M bread because instead of an X i’d cut an M across the top before putting it into the oven. always had a phobia regarding yeast risen bread – who knows why. just seemed like it’d be alot of trouble.

it worked! (and its M bread)

it worked! (and its M bread)

Soon we will be making hawthorn tinctures and the rowan berries are almost ready – rowan makes a good jam. meanwhile the sloes will be ripe after the first frost – is there anything other than sloe gin that you can make from them? well i guess sloe gin could be good? its nice to have made the remedies which keep us healthy. i walk out into the back garden and instead of high weird berry hedges –  i see the elder berry trees which help me deal with this F’in flu. I feel like a little bit of the wild earth the natural world is caring for me. we picked the berries, thanked the elder for her blessing, put them in a basket and gave the bugs twenty four hours to leave, then brought them in and made decoction and tincture. so in all the interaction we created a new relationship with the plant that surrounds our house. same with the saint johns which we grew in the garden near the roses. and so too as we gather rowan and hawthorn from the laneway and by the lakeside. we could just go buy the stuff at the health shop but then we would miss out on relating with our surroundings.

rowan berries

rowan berries

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