on raglan road again by pd lyons

For P.K.

Would I were on raglan road

When days still soft like rain drops fell

Unnoticed smokes occasioned by good porter

And I wanderer of no particular destination

Knew by heart each foot fall path I’d take

To find my self back home again

23 3 23 Morning Coffee Notes by PD Lyons

On today’s tray ~ Woman Blood Christ Female Darkness

 

23 3 23

 

Grail Woman Blood Bride Christ

Easy to read the new testament with feminist eye. The goddess is there before us. The only missing part is ourself. To read with our heart not with someone else’s law.

 

Try Eve ~

 

Serpent ancient symbol of immortality

Knowledge wisdom tree of knowledge

Every oppressor dictator in history considered knowledge to be a sin.

There is more mannishness than godliness in the wrathgod’s jealousy.

Eve the mother offering immortality – life to her children and to the one she loves.

Someone has deemed that a sin worthy of being exiled.

Again, smells like toxic masculinity rather than god to me.

So, we are exiled from Eden/eve.

We are exiled from the mother. The one who gives all in favour for the one who doles out.

The one who loves freely as the mother as the Christ.

Love.

Put it back. Make it real.

Every feast day for every woman saint together in the front pews women should sit together. Every event for Mary. line the pews together. Every rosary sit together. Show every priest the solidarity of the mother with her children. Mary with Christ. Children with the Mother Church.

What Christ has wrought with eve

What Christ has Wrought with Mary

Let no mere man break asunder.

One of the most female based religions needs the involvement of women in order to be restored. Healed.

 

 

The new testament of Christ is to be read as antidote to the old testament of wrathgod. That’s the rebel Jesus. Love over idolatry. Kindness over stone. 

 

Once We Knew the Dark

No matter where days may differ but darkness is the same.

What if I lead you by the mouth?

Places underwater you could breathe in

Fingers taught on instruments stranger than bones

Drawn by strings reminiscent of words long ago

Familiar colours since extinct.

When winter was all there was could you find reasons to celebrate?

No matter how elaborate windows intricate trees harmonic songs

What does it take to lure a silver sun?

Bleaktitude chased

Hot whiskey voices

Oak wood smoke

CúirtRed berry holly

Slender secret ghosts vulnerable to love.

If it were long ago and my name was Jesus

Would you change your name for me?

Would you be my Mary?

I have become food for other creatures

Things I never knew existed indulge themselves in me

Grey not white birds mark my passing secret self

No evidence during that time of my existence

Yet even so something still remains:

A dying ember tenderness unquestioned.

 

Drawn to the wound in you moon strong as my own

A thing to be fingered or fucked a place to meet or loose ourselves.

What makes me want to reach in wonder what shape your creatures take as I do?

Unlike them others, reverse rodents unable to stay,

I’m not afraid. I know nothing survives the future.

Why wait for secrets? When we forget enough we die.

How Like Dreams Now the Days Too Fade, by pd Lyons. Re: Ethel Pollard Lyons Thanks to Donna J Snyder for telling me

Last night I had a dream about you.

Nothing major.

We just met face to face.

You were telling me about my grandmother.

We were outside in the sand.

I was surprised you knew her.

I  never knew she went to Mexico.

It was hot.

We sat down at a rough grey whiskery  table.

Yes, you said and she rode very well.

A bright grey horse among the caballeros.
“And tequila ?” I leaned towards you tete-a-tete  ” What about  the tequila…?”

But the scraping sound of speeding traffic brought me into this morning.

And I wondered Why Mexico?

I was always a bit afraid of Mexico –

Suddenly Last Summer

We don’t need no stinking badges,

Maryse Holder Give Sorrow words,

Comacheros,

Decapitations decorating the highways…

But when I was a kid –

Zorro.

Bands of silver trumpeters.

Hat dancing.

Cielito Lindo.

raw silver jewellery, grumpy looking straw cowboys, hand bags made of alligator,

those souvenirs sent to my mother from her favorite uncle, 

United States Army Air Forces navigator.

And why you?

I had called you Jan.

You had written to me about my own work.

I had admired yours, especially the Creation Myths,

Hoped someday you’d do an audio version.

How like dreams now,
the days too
fade.

 

Re: Ethel Pollard Lyons Thanks to Donna J Snyder for telling me

 

I would abandon all other cities for this… The reading by pd lyons

 

 

Two from My Childhood Home in Waterbury Ct. by PD Lyons. read by the poet

When we Lived on Nelson Ave.
PD Lyons

days when my father took milk and sugar
leaving the spoon in his coffee
my mother whistled among lilacs and roses
mahogany furniture kept well polished
 special knives and forks only used on holidays

I knew the name of Lilly of the valley
not to ever put them in your mouth

there were kittens in the sun porch
we watched born from a tabby cat named Felix

there were cherries from our backyard tree
so red I thought they were black,
tasting like no cherries
ever would again

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The Girl Next Door 
By PD Lyons

When I remember
Third floor windows
Tall white lace sails
Summer all running in our veins
Her mother in the kitchen
Making cool aid and plate full of something
Cookie sweet to eat

She wanted me to stay
I was afraid, wanted to go home
But didn’t want her to know
Not wanting to be in this house of too many windows
Overlooking the valley

But she wanted me to stay
Besides the rains begun
Going to be a real storm
Already rumblings a darkening horizon

 her mother agreed
I’ll call your parents. They won’t be worried.
You can stay for supper. You like hot dogs don’t you?

 that was how I learned not to be afraid of storms
Not to hide from thunder or lightning
Frances and her mother, exuberant
Ohs  ahs  joy over every
Menacing vibration sudden crash
Every flash veining skeletal zigzag

The Road You Mean by P D Lyons for Brigid Walshe my friend

 

The Road You Mean 

 

today the January snow

the sky a heavy dark of steel

made those old whiskery fence posts seem black

and too the fingers of those tall swaying trees

seemed to be searching for something 

I could not see what for

until the crows came speaking your name

and I remembered

 

4.nov.0z9/ soup

heavy rainy grey day. Morgan home form school not feeling well. bleary as she says. slight fever and achy. so no one goes out today.

for lunch carrot soup. chop stick celery,half lg onion, coriander powder (fresh or leaf if you have it i didnt), olive oil  butter,saute, add chopped carrots four large, three small chopped potatoes, coriander again, bit of tarragon,salt,black pepper, water to cover veg, bring to boil simmer til soft then puree or mash.add liquid til consistency is achieved. serve w/dash of cream, chives garnish or whatever. do not leave unattended while messing about on computer or else will all get stuck n burnt. if this happens listen to your wife and dump out whatever falls freely into new sauce pan add enough water to cover, puree and then re heat attentively and gently and if your lucky like me then it will come out ok and thus please your partner who after all is the only reason you make carrot soup as you can’t abide the stuff yourself.

tip: pay attention when cooking. if not then take scalded pan treat with sympathy by scrapping out all stuck veg. then fill with some dr bronner ‘s soap abut a quarter inch and some water put on heat to boil. after boil let sit for five mins or so. then scrap some more, then dump then take a brillo pad to it and then rinse and let dry and promise the poor faithful servant to never ever be so neglectful again. then on to the next task.

aubergine sauce

pay attention now!

stick celery, half  lg onion, four or so lg cloves garlic, olive oil, handful parsley, saute ten mins or so. add 500g of coarse chopped unpeeled aubergine (eggplant) with more parsley and handful basil and about cup of water, cook covered for abt ten mins. then add ten-twelev peeled plum tomatoes (or two small tin italian plum tomatoes unsalted and un ingrediented if possible – a plain as can be got) pinch sugar, paprika, four glugs or so red wine, some saffron if you have it, some tomato paste it you want. cook forty mins. reduce if you want to use in lasagna type dish, perhaps tomato paste would be helpful. or else get consistency you want for serving over good italian pasta. thanks to Jeni Wright’s The Pasta Bible for the jumping off point.

tip: with pasta you get what you pay for. it doesnt need to be fresh but get something like de’ceco or barilla or something not generic.

make ahead of time, so yo can work on something like your poetic masterpieces, post political enlightenments, and send naughty birthday animation card via computer and not have to worry about it burning. Do not go near the f’n computer untill sauce is done, turned of taken off hot hob etc. cause if you burn tomato based sauce then even your wife despite all her secret powers, cannot save your bacon !!!!!!! and the daughter might get cross!

dont make me cast a spell on you!

remember to remember ~ happy new year! #lordofthe dance #revels

Lord Of The Dance

by

Sydney Carter

 

I danced in the morning when the world was young

I danced in the moon and the stars and the sun

I came down from heaven and I danced on the earth

At Bethlehem I had my birth

Dance, dance, wherever you may be

I am the lord of the dance, said he

And I lead you all, wherever you may be

And I lead you all in the dance, said he

I danced for the scribes and the Pharisees

They wouldn’t dance, they wouldn’t follow me

I danced for the fishermen James and John

They came with me so the dance went on

Dance, dance, wherever you may be

I am the lord of the dance, said he

And I lead you all, wherever you may be

And I lead you all in the dance, said he

I danced on the Sabbath and I cured the lame

The holy people said it was a shame

They ripped, they stripped, they hung me high

Left me there on the cross to die

Dance, dance, wherever you may be

I am the lord of the dance, said he

And I lead you all, wherever you may be

And I lead you all in the dance, said he

I danced on a Friday when the world turned black

It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back

They buried my body, they thought I was gone

But I am the dance, and the dance goes on

Dance, dance, wherever you may be

I am the lord of the dance, said he

And I lead you all, wherever you may be

And I lead you all in the dance, said he

They cut me down and I leapt up high

I am the life that will never, never die

I’ll live in you if you’ll live in me

I am the Lord of the dance, said he

Dance, dance, wherever you may be

I am the lord of the dance, said he

And I lead you all, wherever you may be

And I lead you all in the dance, said he

 

(These lyrics may or may not be copyrighted!)

 

looking by pd lyons

or indeed what

29.oct.0z9 True Witch

true witch

She made her way through the balmy autumn evening. She was checking the store front windows for a sign. It was around her somewhere. Ah here we are. The new age Wicca and pagan emporium. Sounds like it would be the place she thought.

Meanwhile inside the ladies were gathering for their weekly meet. Tonight of course was the big one as it was Halloween night or samhain. They were all done up in their finest. Gowns and skirts of various autumnal hues, tingling with bells or sparkling with glitter. Daggers polished bright and wands of crystals amethyst quartz gathering at the circle out behind the shop in the small high walled courtyard.

All at once they grew silent as the jangle of the store shop door bells let them know someone else had entered. Someone else had come.

But we are all here

Who could it be?

I thought I locked the door

Maybe some last minute shoppers?

Let’s go see…

Oh my god, I mean goddess cried one.

What are you playing at said the shop owner?

You’ve got some nerve to come here to night.

Aren’t you a little old for trick or treat.

Well said the old woman sorry to be a bit late but I had a time finding the place. I just couldn’t track it down.

That’s not what we mean.

What then I was told witches were welcome here.

Yes but you’ve got to be

Kidding. Yeah look at you.

Even a wart on the end of your nose.

What said the old one?

Look I don’t know what you’re playing at but you can’t stay here looking like that.

You don’t like the way I look?

No that’s not it of course we think all wiccans should have green faces and warty noses, oh and the pointy hat and black over coat just priceless I suppose you have striped socks and ruby slippers.

Well what’s how I dress got to do with anything. You all don’t look to practical to me if I might be so bold.

We are true wiccans not some stereotypical throw back to Hollywood and trick or treat.

By the way where’s your broom?

Well I left it out side across the door way as is tradition.

Tradition what would you know.

Look we don’t have time for this you had your fun now go away.

You all seem to be rather rude to me not liking my face not liking my clothes

Well what did you expect, go on get out.

I expected some mutual respect. I expected perhaps some wiser tack that to insult those who aren’t like yourselves. I’m not used to such small minded witches…

What would you know of witches you don’t know a thing about the true religion…

Oh whatever it is I know or not, I can tell this is not the place for me.

Good they said now there’s the door. Imagine the nerve, go on good night.

So the old one left the jangling door announced her departure. And all the ladies rushed up, to see that she was gone once and for all. The one locked and double locked the door other peering out the windows between the official merchandise.

They saw sure enough she had a broom. Can you believe it a freaking broom? They saw her pick up the broom which sure enough had lain across the door stoop. And several ladies wet themselves with laughter while other grew quite indignant when they saw the old on walk down the stops and on the sidewalk straddle the broom but no one said a word none moved but all collectively drew and held a deep breath of pure amazement when the old one flew away.

trick or treat!