Tag Archives: photography

boomerz by pd lyons


I live only in memory
The day to day does not inspire me
I only want to sit here think about what used to be.

Here only in my own home.
Locked doors, paid taxes, insurance policies, protect me.
TV,  petrol chemicals, nourish me.

People not like me outrage me.

There is New Snow (one from the old notes) by pd lyons

So of course over the years I’ve ended up with a collection of a fair few note books. lately I’ve been combing through them for forgotten gems. So here with a light edit is this one. As for the quality of its gem-iness, well I leave that up to you the reader. cheers.

mix media by morgan lyons

mix media by morgan lyons

There is New Snow

someone has spilled oats on the walk way.

from the stairway I watch below

crows with snow in contrast floating 

when my heart is soft enough to weep

then I will call you

when angels fall without escape

then they will think of us

when all the secrets of our lives revealed

then they will be as blue as they were hidden 

when you know everything that you somehow never knew

then you will know the sound of my soft heart calling you

Until then not wanting anything

all I need fits into the pockets of this coat.

I would abandon all other cities for this never to call you anything but by your long-ago name the one your mother whispered once all sea spray hidden away from anyone else but me. 

(so a ruff work in progress what do you think?)


To wake from sleep with neutral angels

Cross weeping waters   Opiate lilies

Rolled tobacco   Porcelain skin


I give out money, paper money for free.

 Answer: Because you are sitting on the streets I was born into this world on.


I pass from them streets like loose wrappers

cobbled stones lost mythologies; strangers foreign even to my self.

But  could if I want sift sea salt stolen dreams.  Camera fantastic songs.

 Long meandering trails to and from siren spiralling stairs.

 A better life only in theory because I would give up all other cities for this.


To wake from sleep with nameless angels

Cross weeping water smugglers

Beggar a hazy sun dry enough for a nod.


Soft we talk knowing no tomorrows. 

your head rests on my shoulder. Safe from all clack and clatter,

from hard shelters, rough searchers, mingling watery blood sucked ones.

Only respite from the past, we drift.


I tell you stories of cities abandoned long ago

Where warmth was free. Where angels had names

Where heroes would rescue even you.

Asleep without being asleep, your head on my shoulder.

I don’t move when tenderly

You pooch my pockets

 find something worth taking.

 Let you have it

 not moving while you leave

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


Lake Garda / Riva del Garda #lakegarda

pd lyons pix 11/2021

never mind anyone else but you. why do you have to hate?

never mind the pregnant woman. why do you have to hate?

never mind the trans person. why do you have to hate?

never mind the Brown, Black, Asian, Caucasian people. why do you have to hate?

never mind the LGBTQ+ people. why do you have to hate?

never mind the religions. why do you have to hate?

never mind the liberal/conservative people. why do you have to hate?

never mind the  the guns. why do you have to hate?

never mind the immigrant people. why do you have to hate?


the sound of winter by pd lyons



breaths slow smoke over the snow

a slush of footsteps

 rattle of bare branches

crows caw

air whispers in crystalline

the pack ice pretending to be thunder



Buddha and the Duck of love, Sport, & Compassion photography by PD Lyons

an old guy walking #pdlyons #photography #horses & red bird


grass is always greener – even if its a driveway

an old guy

walking on the side of the road

rain soft across my face

bird songs my smile

the wind sings through my bones

ancient instruments loving the moon

born in the month of strawberries.

Soft like snow

Every movement

A steady meticulous tenderness

muddy corner

by the gate

one horse waits

walking by

north to rome – by pd lyons from Morning Movies

we took the train north to Rome
started with sweat and bullets
wishing for a better meal next stop
village by village dust bells along
following the steady steel rhythm

hours drift lulling with common motion
 landscapes we have come to know
keep pace as we imagined
being closer than we ever were
before leaving

Reggio Calabria


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