Tag Archives: pdlyons photographs

Didn’t We Used to Know Better, circa 1973 by PD Lyons



bacon I believe

When he would reach both hands open wide sky pull fists into fits as if muscle alone could change the world and make whatever it was roiled inside come out into some sort of peace serenity wisdom of sages and healer of masses. Instead of cigarette bourbon beer, instead cocaine snotty girls lines and rocks wine and physical graffiti still life with twitched nerve endings. Calling it love. Calling it art Calling it life dancing with death as if fear could be appeased by feigning recklessness bravado of a bullying sort.

Gimme a light will yea man. Give men a buck if you got it. I’m tired of standing out here the wind is high and I’m not and brother could I use at least a cuppa coffee. Don’t I know you from school? Didn’t we grow up on the same block? Didn’t your sister go out with me brother? Didn’t your daddy know mine? Days were when I could-a brother, days when I didn’t ask. Days when I dealt bought or stolen. days when I wasn’t so old. Used to call it a party then. Used to call is a rush. Used to call it a living. Now its just doing time. Wouldn’t you spare us a smoke then? Wouldn’t you have some loose change? Didn’t we play ball together? Didn’t we used to get drunk? Didn’t we used to know better? Couldn’t you just help me out?



Blue jean Jimmy by PD Lyons Poetry re The Wind Cries Mary by J. Hendrix











Smoke Sat leaning

Head across

Your Mary knees

Said no one ever played this song for you


This then

was before empty blue tomorrows


This then

was everything possible

No blue but the sky for reaching


This then

was every wide-open 

breath fled after you


All Now ,

is left.

Only ghosts, the past.

Only here, Wishing smoke.

And how can anything be created besides memory?

Ever altering

Ever moving memory

Like love

Like our wide-open kisses

Like our smoky Jimmy

Playing Mary.


words and photographs by pd lyons


Roses swollen with rain


full breasts dreaming for the hungry mouths of bees

soft in a gold of sunshine sung by small birds invisible

day dream ripples dull grey puddle answers spilling over the edge

storm gutters blocked by neglect

and wishes would ride the open mouth kisses of our own
















Once While I Was Away, by pd Lyons

Paris doorway pdlyons photo

You might have come

Expecting awkward greeting won by

Philosophic well planned answers to

What you thought my unasked questions were –

Accidental touch

Silent linger hands

Knowing prelude to a kiss

All it would take to unclench my heart

Inviting you in

So you’d have something to do for the afternoon  DSC_1192


Another one of those young love poems. probably 1980’s. not sure. but reminding me today to something Manhattanish or maybe Paris premonitions?

Paris doorway pdlyons photo

Paris doorway pdlyons photo

Paris doorway pdlyons photo

Diary by PD Lyons




Dust in the corner

Pale light through loose boards

Soft paper pages partially filled

So small

The world with all its bigness

Could have so easily passed by.


Will we, all of us leave the same absence?

Know the same impossible loneliness,

As if somehow shared, we could know one another ,


We have all touched this world with little fingers,

As have I;

Not as some imagining or speculation

But as a human being.

Certain of my own sense of purpose.

So many things bigger than me.

So many things I could not wait to do.

How long it takes to be a grown up.


Unlike you I do know the story’s end.

Unlike you I could not, not know.

Remember me this way:

Small as I was, it all fit into my life.

(for Anne)

wrote this about five years ago. sent a version of this to a publication that was putting together works about Anne Frank.  they never responded – one of the things I hate about editors is the no response, almost as bad as the acceptance but not paying the prize or fee.  anyway saw that today or yesterday would have been her 84th birthday. so much sorrow buried in the common clay of all our hearts.

sometimes autumn is all there is

sometimes autumn is all there is


When we lived on Nelson Ave. by pd lyons

When we Lived on Nelson Ave.

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
and 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


a version of this poem is included in the collection :  Caribu – poetry by pd lyons


from Six Crows Snow by pd lyons


But what if you were really here, what would I say?

Tell you about the day, the first real snow,

crows huddled in the grey fingers of that tree,

watching, waiting, as if for something I didn’t have to give…


titanic, belfast. … and rust to rust (part2)


titanic belfast




the rectangle shape on the pole that lays across the cargo cranes would have been the entrance the lookouts took to climb up to their station.

Photos taken  at the titanic Belfast exhibits, original photo i believe are from Ballard’s exploration.

ties that bind (3-5)


hard fast and solid

hard fast and solid


neglect keeps me from the sea






and yes again

nameless red rose

nameless red rose

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