Tag Archives: poetry

Fallen Lilies by pd lyons


 

We will surround you with silence

Like the voices of our children never to be heard again

 

We will surround you with fallen lilies

Like each of one our children cut mid bloom

 

We won’t ever know what to do

With a hypocrite’s thoughts and prayers

We won’t ever find anything

In a hypocrite’s concern for our grief

 

But we’ll not match the hardness of such hearts

By hardening our own

We will not meet such hearts with violence

We know too well that path of sorrow

 

So, we will meet you in silence

Like the voices of our children never to be heard again

We will meet you in fallen lilies

Like each one of our children cut mid bloom

 

Unlike you

We will do what must be done

 

Unlike you

We will remember and continue to find days to be thankful for

 

Mothers rocking babies rocking mothers

Fathers rocking babies rocking fathers

 

 

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he had watched her soft like snow edited by pd lyons


He had watched her

Soft like snow

Every movement

A steady meticulous tenderness

Touching each part of the world

One particle at a time

Acknowledged gently

Precisely

Irrevocably

 

he had watched her soft like snow by pd lyons


 

He had watched her

Soft like snow

Every movement

As if the whole world

More tender than herself

A steady meticulous tenderness

~

She was not afraid

She was aware

Touching each part of the world

One particle at a time

Acknowledged gently

Precisely

Irrevocably

 

The Things I Didn’t Want to Do, by pd lyons


All my life of lingering lies

Each and every single one

A point to point of indelible regret

 

So dig in deep and hold your mark

Squeeze the trigger, don’t black out

Ain’t that a fitting way for it to end

 

Slow and steady always just a mere formality

I could only follow where the strings were pulling me

 

Like the nagging of my mamma

And the raging of my pa

Those class rooms full of things I couldn’t really understand

And those laws that seemed only to apply to me

 

So dig in deep and hold your mark

Squeeze the trigger, don’t black out

Ain’t that a fitting way for it to end

 

 

And where’s the love like in those songs

And where’s the joy of that gospel god?

The fame and fortune like in those magazines

Fulfilling all those promises made by my TV screen

 

All those things I ever learned

All those lessons so absurd

I was only running after someone else’s manufactured dream.

 

So I’ll dig in deep hold my mark

Squeeze the trigger and not black out

And maybe hope for reinforcement will pan out.

 

 

did the Yankees still have a chance for the pennant by pd lyons


Today

at the counter

pastrami on rye

coffee black

just off the peripheral

this guy and woman at a table

he was going on & on

you know right away

a bunch of bullshit

rather loudly too

I had no interest in him

or what he was selling

but she had caught my eye

noticed her the minute i came in

by the time i finished my sandwich

she still hadn’t said a word

he of course hadn’t stopped

people just tried to piss him off

daughter 13 years old competing already

lack of parenting by all others

ad nauseam

I asked the waitress for a refill and the check

turned to get a better look at them

maybe she was speaking by just too soft for me to hear?

but no. she was just sitting there taking it all in.

no longer interested but rather sorry for her

turned to finish my coffee

wondered how long the rain would hold off

did the Yankees still have a chance for the pennant…

razor black mirror porcelain by pd lyons


 

razor black

mirror porcelain

 

for your

rose bud

bird song mouth

I have made bouquets

 

gathering

shadow light

creatures wonderful

grotesques fortuitous

clear potable water

dark caves beneath a sunless world

secret hand fulls

tremors lolled by after glows

 

alone like ivory your room in blosom

rich solitudes of orchid

perfumed isolations

joys

with

or

without

love

i only make for you

 

 

The Great God Pan Is Dead by pd lyons


 

photographer unknown

 

Within the pages of illusion,

Before the glass of no reflection,

The sensuous form of her adoration,

(White on blonde)

Rises to the occasion of the

Mysterious relation between,

The pale worship of a

Vanishing god and the blue

Whispers of her blood.

As fevered as silk in cedar,

Fanatical as dew dipped spider webs;

She’s come and gone.

Her absence heavy in the spicy

Dust of death, where her foot steps

Spell out the haunting word

Amen

 

1987

memorial by pd lyons


ever onward let me go
ever onward let me go home

this world of lamentation
these buds of easy bloom

you don’t know where
but i’ll find my way

so let me go

i’ll leave a little light for you – if i can

 

truth of youth


stronger

sleeker

smarter

better

wet ourselves at the sight of each other

poems and photos by pd lyons published by clockwise cat issue 36 “Skullwise Cat”


https://www.yumpu.com/en/document/view/56836339/skullwise-cat

 

scorpion night

THE NIGHT MARES

Restless

In a still night

No moon softening

Sharp stars

No cloud drapery.

Against this midnight

The night mares move

Sharing colour with the darkness.

What cannot find them is found by them,

There are no ways secret:

Spiraling stars leave every sky familiar,

Foraging herds by trails of green weeds

Breach every underwater sanctuary.

The night mares

Sleep standing up;

Contain any stallion,

Give birth in the middle of any weather,

Can knock bones, eyes, or internal organs out of any creature.

Simply by their passing

Men have been sucked breathless.

The night mares

Know where dragons come from,

And who, mothered by seas and singing desert sands,

The twin birthed are.

In languages that the thunder knows,

They answer one another.

Navigating easily unbridled,

No boundary deludes them.

Yielding, the only response they know.

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

this first appeared in print in Searches For Magic Lapwing Press Belfast

 

 

 

How Long My Unfitting Skin, The Night

 

she had come down from Gunnison

it had been a hard ride

thin air refusing to support her

old shoes needing to be thrown away as soon as possible

~

met for drinks at The Last Chance

she told me brief stories 

life in the wilderness

ways of ghosts and proud flesh

we booked a room from the man who wore a star

~

make believe log cabin

steel spring mattress

Jim Beam on the bed side

we smoked silent shapes up at an invisible ceiling in the dark

I was happy to be there 

thought she was too

~

but somewhere after moon light

she had gotten up

kneeling by the drifty window

to whatever she prayed

all i could make out was –

 

How long my own unfitting skin the night?

 

 

thank you clockwise cat!

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