Morning Coffee Notes 19.2.23

Sometimes the only purpose pains serves is distraction. Or is it? It calls my attention, but I have no answer. When there is nothing can be done, why doesn’t it just go away? Instead, unrelenting elaborates via frustration, anger, despair.

The Buddha says to meditate on what gives you trouble. So, do I meditate on this pain coming from nowhere,? Incessant, unsolvable? This no reason, no thing, unactionable situation.

~

Behind every noise there is quiet

Letting noise be as it is

Unadorned without judgement

Peace presents itself naturally.

~

Sometimes

The cold doesn’t hurt

Or rather its sting

Is not distracting but invigorates

Air easier to breath

Not heavy with heat

From those delusions of comfort

I have been taught to crave.

~

We were on the road in Clare heading to Galway. We had found a musician named Colm Mac Con Iomaire. So, benefiting from technology we had him playing through the car speakers. The soft beauty of greys greens and daylight, Irish daylight. The yellow lines on the road seemed golden and just sticking the phone video out the window was joy enough. The road fairly empty except for ourselves, occasional farm tractor and elusive visions of the sea.

And you drove and we looked

Spoke about what we saw.

And we listened

Spoke about what we heard

Hoping the Hares Corner would come again and never end.

Shop

not what breaks your heart

not what breaks your heart,

but what hardens it –

this causes true harm – Djanet Tozeur

 

unknown photographer

from As If The rain Fell In Ordinary Time read by author PD Lyons

 

on todays menu ~

Morgana

People Who Cured Themselves

In the language Of Flowers it Meant, We Are Already Dead

Themes ~

Languages,

communications,

Love,

Whales,

Pain PD Lyons reads from the 2019 erbacce-press International Prize for Poetry winner. As the events of 2020 put paid to my intention to promote this book via live readings etc. I have decided to simply read the book in order on short videos. I believe the work should be heard and hope to make that happen here. Thank you if you have for listening. cheers. good luck. bye!

pdlyonspoet@yahoo.co.uk.

erbacce-press Liverpool UK c2019

video c2021 pdlyons poet.

If you’d like a copy of the book contact me via email to arrange. inscribed limited editions 20.00euros regular postage incl. anywhere in the world. 15.00Euros if you’re lucky enough to live in Ireland.

 

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poetry & photography by pd lyons

 

In the Language of Flowers, It Meant We are Already Dead

 

 

Beside whatever water there was there

Over flowing bowl an undulate of green tendrils

Draped swan songs

Left morning a capture of sorrow

She reached out to nothing there

She reached out to something ridged

Pulling itself from her heart

In and out

A pornograph of pain

The table set with only bones

Memories picked clean

A criticism of cutlery

Every single question ever asked –

A useless pointlessness recycling

not what breaks your heart

not what breaks your heart,

but what hardens it –

this causes true harm – Djanet Tozeur

 

unknown photographer

too late, the surgeons have her – by pd lyons

too late
the surgeons have her.

a hungry bevy of scalpels
greedily seek those points of pain.

there will be no open touches
shoulders hips
muscle to muscle stretching of spine.

they will not release these tight buds of pain
through blossom.

rather cut and fuse
remade into something
more easily prescribed for.

true.

PAIN IS INEVITABLE. SUFFERING IS WHAT YOU MAKE OF IT.