Tag Archives: sea

7.3.23. Morning Coffee Notes

On today’s menu:

Horsetail Tea, Time, Mary & Jesus, PFC, Cigars, Zippo, and coffee



Today for the first time in forever

Today is the first time forever

Today I get to sit in a big blue arm chair to have tea. Horsetail tea with a gorgeous dollop of honey from local happy bees. Its cold and March and afternoon. I’ve all the windows open and I’m layered up and wrapped up in my grey plush wizards robe, hood up. The lion of March breezing around the place.

The best thing about honey in tea? Well don’t stir it up too violent that way at the end there is this glorious blob of warm honey to watch as it slides out the still warm mug into you r mouth. I learned this as a child, first with sugar and then with honey and it still works today.

Its especially good with an astringent tea like horsetail, nettle, green etc Steeped strong in an insulated clear glass mug. Apologies to the purists but tea bags are good by me.


I am not drawn to abstraction

Rather to immersion


Mary & Jesus

Antidote to wrath-god   


When Pain Ebbs

First time a walk without

And without causing new ones

A giddy joy hardly dare express out loud

But does


The sea continues to open up to me

Revelation of secrets

An easy evolution

Todays sample from My Favourite Dreams Are of the Sea:


The Sea Made Her Way

snuck up river

dares a short cut overland

crosses the lake

hitches a ride under the high lands

to where an old man sits

back against white stucco

smoking a Cuban cigar

she begins right away

 whispers rolling waves

soaring skimming sounds of silver birds

stars like diamonds among pure black

as if travelling among them there would never be another horizon

behind his eyes the old man smiles

ribbons of smoke barely audible ahh into 0’s

at which she pauses 

sees how he is now

and knows all she can really do?

 return alone from whence she came

never to kiss his pale grey eyes again



P.F.C. *

crossing the country by train

deep water port

 shore of dreams

golden gateway rising sun

grey steel ships

grey steel sea

grey soft eyes

fraternity of fear and obligation

naivete and boredom

a steady bravado

a tedium of active duty

battered, dog-eared but never

a note not even a name in,

Shakespeare, bible of complete works hidden away

secret claim to dreams your heart could not reveal

*abbreviation Military. private first class. United States Marine Corps.



There Has Never Been an Ocean Too Cold for Her to Swim In *

Flamingo towels Knickerbocker beer USMC Zippo

Old Gold cigarette spiral prayers Gratitude at last, unable to fathom any reason to feel bad about surviving.

Deep breath wonderful (not a god damn palm tree in sight). Watching that beautiful woman of the sea. Only wish there would never have to be a time to leave.

Sometime after midnight, small cedar room,

 Stuart tartan blankets, crisp white sheets, strange night sounds traipsing gingham curtains,

 As if tiny fingers she ohs your name, answer back with words you never knew before.

This spring by the sea your little house will not find you.

Gone now. Perhaps to wander?

That glimmering girl once more beside you…?

“And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun” **

(For: D.R.L. – with regards to W.B. Yeats, his favourite poet)

*  USMC – United States Marine Corps. Zippo – cigarette lighter issued by USMC WW2 Old Gold – cigarette brand

** from The Song of Wandering Aengus BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

5.3.23 morning coffee notes

On today’s menu

Pain, Hawks, Sea shore, joy, equanimity, writing poetry again, title piece from: my favourite dreams are of the sea


At first it was a bit sporadic but eventually

The lapse between pain and non-opposing

Grew shorter

Instead of zing-fuck

It became zing-oh you again

Managing  what is VS seeking comfort


This mornings

Red hawk

Unfurls herself

Slowly into flight

Funny how something so big

Remains unnoticed until in motion.


 Where do they happen

Where do they go

Where do they come from

With Within Without – “Me”

Don’t know Don’t want Don’t need



Mercy Plea

If I listen

I’d hear my own heart

A weakness which would put me vulnerable

To every heartless thing I’ve done


I don’t know where it comes from

This turbulent impatience


Attachment to results

A wish that my writing made a “difference”

That people found it got it responded to it.


Or is it something else

An exhaustive ache pain

Redundant days after days

Seeming peaceful but inherently futile.


I’m where it comes from


What do I do about that?

Old man blues what can you do?


Equanimity key

Resolution for suffering

 Enabler of movement instead of entrenched rigidity

 Breathe in What Is

Exhale movements with What Is.

Equanimity free from emotional reactions activity is infused with wisdom


Today for the first time in forever I wrote. Working some poems from my manuscript My Favourite Dreams Are of the Sea. I wasn’t getting it ready to send out, I’ve no one to send it to. I just found myself sitting with it. Started with a basic full word do edit and then began to read and work them. Getting to the first three. The changes presented themselves effortlessly. I had no doubt over every deleted word, lines even stanza each brought out the natural shine of the piece. It was a nice steady enjoyment of writing poetry again.  Left me looking forward to tomorrows session and able to allow myself that luxury.

So here’s the title piece ~


My Favourite Dreams Are of the Sea


Sky so bright it can’t be looked at

water dark and deep

the sky bends down in envy

 I am alone in this wide-open ocean

absent from any shore line

knowing as I lie back she will not let me fall.


 Barefoot playing on the beach sand castles built tall as my self

and now with my pail make a way so mermaids who have been watching

 can come up for a visit without leaving their home behind.


My mother meets me by the creek once marked the boundary of our beach walks

we are walking back I am telling her everyone is doing pretty well.

she is pointing out to where diamonds of the waves briefly meet the sky.


My cousins brother-in-law brings us to the breakwater to fish. I’ve smoked all my cigarettes and he, the brother-in-law, is generous supplying me from his own. They get bored want to go down to the beach side to swim. I don’t want to, So I stay smoking someone else’s cigarettes fishing for nothing keeping an eye on the gear. Nearby there’s woman on a huge flat chunk of granite. She has two children with her. They are playing together with bits of sea weed. She lays there luxuriant in the sun sounds of the waves and the laughter of her children.


Walking on the beach with a girl I know from school. tide high and slack.

we are finding things in the sand noting as we go strips of green weeds, bits of sea glass, bleached bones of small creatures skulls of small crabs. Sometimes there are these pink stones. I pick them up put them into the pockets of my cut-off jeans. She picks them up as well and even though she has pockets on her cut-offs she is rather throwing them out into the sea. I give it a go but mine fall short. They’re nowhere near the long effortless arcs of her own. So instead, I give all mine to her and watch. We continue on in that way. Me picking up small pink stones handing them to her so we can enjoy the long grace of her connections with the sea.



Atlantic Seascape by pd lyons

the overwhelming wave

leaves me like a cork bobbing

on a sunny sea


Spring Rises, poem & photographs

photographer unknown

(photographer unknown)

spring rises

a girl from the sea

silk through  barely open windows




La La, La La La – by pd lyons



La la la la la

I am rolling on the waves
on the waves
on the waves
I am rolling on the waves
far away from shore

The sun is shining not too strong
not too strong
not too strong
The sun is shining not too strong
far away from shore

Happy dolphins guiding me
guiding me
guiding me
Happy dolphins guiding me
far away from shore


and four from galway bay









sea life dance by pd lyons




why we like gutter eloquence magazine


Dear Pd, 
Thank you for submitting your poetry to Gutter Eloquence Magazine.
I apologize for the delayed response, but unfortunately, my work on
the zine was held up for awhile, due to computer repair issues.
About your submission: “Monochrome” is a standout, and
I’ll be publishing the piece in G.E.M. #28. That issue is due
to arrive online sometime between October 1st and 5th.
Jack T. Marlowe, Editor
an online

with an
print edition

 This site is not suitable for persons under 18 years of age. 
  gut-ter, adjective: suitable for the gutter; vulgar, disreputable (Wiktionary.org).
el-o-quence, noun: powerful and effective language (WordNet 3.0).

a poem by Pd Lyons


She wanted exotic
adrift on fantastic seas
but her heart
was premeditated by Chinese love
lacquered shackled and all braided up

sometimes she’d wander for hours
counting crosses she’d find
roads, wires, stones, trees
labyrinth cemeteries

until one day nothing left for it

took a straight razor to her hair
wrapped her legs in octopus boots
and left the place of her birth
tired of stunted ballerina feet
no mood for any good earth
rented a loft in SoHo
took pictures of the dark

© by Pd Lyons
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #28 ~ October 2013



why we like straight forward poetry


Too Early For Blueberries

by PD Lyons

Maybe she dyed her hair

Wore black sweats, grey skirts

Walked a black Boston dog

Down the paths of

Maybe you just missed her

Lacy fern still turtles


Trees fallen

Dwindling open water

SFP Issue 4 Cover

PD Lyons

pd lyons has been writing for a long time now and

hopes to continue doing so for even longer. Work has

appeared in many mags & zines throughout the world.

Has two collections of poetry published by Lapwing

Press Belfast. Please visit pdlyons blog for poetry

publishing info and new releases: https://pdlyons.wordpress.com/

the old fellow near the sea

the old fellow near the sea

last october note

Last day before the school break. Morgan gets her week off from school again for Halloween, her birthday. Dress up for the last friday, no uniform today! We walk to school by the sea shore as usual, up the stone road to the main road and school. She runs off to play in the school yard. All the children dressed up, skeletons and witches classics still win out but plenty of cats, ghosts, and un-deads – but not a single Frankenstein. We sit on the bench, Michelle and i, waiting for the bus into Galway City. Its the first frosty morning. Its the pale pinks and greys breaking up over a restless bay. Its the season. Remembering.

dont make me cast a spell on you!

dont make me cast a spell on you!

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