Tag Archives: pearls

Aengus Gets It Right, by pd lyons; as published by the legendary


Aengus Gets It Right

breathe in the fever
perfect wood wind violin
single note shape sigh release
weightless tongues
sweet water curls up
fine black pearls clung
each finger brought to your rowan mouth
until unable to bear it any more
laugh and plunge
this time even deeper

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

where are you singing?
where are you dancing?
tonight in open spaces of my heart
memories keeping us together or apart
when life is only looking back
trading places with the dark
wisdom drawn with silver sticks
without books without roots
unspeakable night this time
I will not medicate fear
I will not dogma soul
I will wide open in the dark

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

as published by the legendary (May 20, 2010. Issue 17).

In Irish mythology, Óengus (Old Irish), Áengus (Middle Irish), or Aengus or Aonghus (Modern Irish), is a member of the Tuatha Dé Danann and probably a god of love, youth and poetic inspiration. He is also called Aengus Óg (“Aengus the young”), Mac ind Óg (“son of the young”), Mac Óg (“young son”) or Maccan. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aengus.

The Song of Wandering Aengus by W.B. Yeats (1865–1939) is one of my favourite poems, and of which this piece does refer to.  you can find the full text of Yeats work, along with another of my own relating to Yeats at this link https://pdlyons.wordpress.com/2014/06/15/somewhere-still-by-pd-lyons-for-donald-lyons-with-regards-to-wb-yeats/

CSC_6389

Aengus Gets It Right, by pd lyons; as published by the legendary


Aengus Gets It Right

breathe in the fever
perfect wood wind violin
single note shape sigh release
weightless tongues
sweet water curls up
fine black pearls clung
each finger brought to your rowan mouth
until unable to bear it any more
laugh and plunge
this time even deeper

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

where are you singing?
where are you dancing?
tonight in open spaces of my heart
memories keeping us together or apart
when life is only looking back
trading places with the dark
wisdom drawn with silver sticks
without books without roots
unspeakable night this time
I will not medicate fear
I will not dogma soul
I will wide open in the dark

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

as published by the legendary (May 20, 2010. Issue 17).

In Irish mythology, Óengus (Old Irish), Áengus (Middle Irish), or Aengus or Aonghus (Modern Irish), is a member of the Tuatha Dé Danann and probably a god of love, youth and poetic inspiration. He is also called Aengus Óg (“Aengus the young”), Mac ind Óg (“son of the young”), Mac Óg (“young son”) or Maccan. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aengus.

 

The Song of Wandering Aengus by W.B. Yeats (1865–1939) is one of my favourite poems, and of which this piece does refer to.  you can find the full text of Yeats work, along with another of my own relating to Yeats at this link https://pdlyons.wordpress.com/2014/06/15/somewhere-still-by-pd-lyons-for-donald-lyons-with-regards-to-wb-yeats/

 

CSC_6389

Could She But Think of Cape Cod – by pd lyons


114-620x350

Could She But Think of Cape Cod

Sand spray ridges

Heartbeat trombone ocean

still out of sight

flavours

her hair

Sifting down out to the open beach

Opalized stones

Darker lighter sand

Crazy north east breakers

Bit by bit

Unnecessaries trail

Shoes Coat

Shirt Skirt

Polka dot bra unmatched pink panties

A string of moonish pearls

Returned

 

Could she but think of Cape Cod/ from rumours of another summer


 

 

Could she but think of Cape Cod

Sand spray ridges

Heartbeat trombone ocean

still out of sight

flavours the air

her hair

and

Shifting down to the open beach

opalized lumps of stone

darker lighter sand

crazy north east gales

bit by

bit

Trail of unnecessaries

Shoes Coat

Shirt Skirt

Polka dot bra unmatched pink panties

A string of moonish pearls returned

 

 

–from Rumours of Another Summer
c2011 by pd lyons
ISBN 9781463769284

 

In The Attic


 
In the attic those Batman DC comics never read, Mickey Mantle rookie cards never clothes pinned to any two wheel red bike, that’s where that baseball ’61-’62 Yankees signed never brought up to the park amazed by how far a real baseball could be hit. Grandfathers uniform uneaten by moths, cavalry sabre unfroze by rust, mothers elephant collection, figures of ivory porcelain silver gold and oh yes still packed in perfect cedar long white lace veils satin silk and sleeves of pearls all the weddings ever worn mother and her mother and her mother before. What the hell just sell it all anyway, nothing cosy as cash and now there’s no one left who’d notice.
%d bloggers like this: