today, ruff by pd lyons

not deaf

but rather

does not listen.

not choice

but rather

submitting.

not ignorance

but rather grateful

for distraction.

freed from the sound then

everything crying.

bowl of fruit, words & photos by pd lyons

cheese sandwich & white wine breakfast

try to keep these pages from the mayonnaise

I am not really a poet,

I just can’t write long stories

~

How plain

this poem

about breakfast

so 

boring

like a painting of a bowl of fruit

or something.

April 27, 1978

No Matter What, If I Sit Still, There is Peace

 

 

No matter what,

If I sit still, there is peace.

Today’s offerings:

The sun brought warm gold

The sky unlimited sapphire

Cloud white pearls

The birds rainbow song

The water in my glass pure crystal

A breeze soft cool silk

My eyes brought seeing

Ears – hearing

Nose – scents

Mouth – tasting

Body – feeling

Mind – thinking

Breath – breathing.

Awareness – Ah

My heart – practice

.

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wordless Wednesday photography by Pd Lyons

Bluez from Hooksongs , words and photograph by pd lyons

 

 

dream away about you

when i wake up in the morning

know my dreams not true

cause when i wake up in the morning

I’m still without you

 

been all around this world

learned a thing or two

but i never learned nothing

help me get over you

 

now sunlight is coming

sit alone in my room

light another cigarette

watch the spirals clear

 

might go to the kitchen

might go out to the street

don’t really make no difference

ain’t no getting away from this

 

poetry & photography by pd lyons

 

In the Language of Flowers, It Meant We are Already Dead

 

 

Beside whatever water there was there

Over flowing bowl an undulate of green tendrils

Draped swan songs

Left morning a capture of sorrow

She reached out to nothing there

She reached out to something ridged

Pulling itself from her heart

In and out

A pornograph of pain

The table set with only bones

Memories picked clean

A criticism of cutlery

Every single question ever asked –

A useless pointlessness recycling

from the Magician’s Hat by pd lyons

Kindness

~

the girl in the high heel boots

wishes she could pull something out of me

that would make her feel better

 

something with a life of its own

something magical

something that might even bite her

before disappearing into her audience

 

but this hat drooled by any rain

hemmed by cough and smoke

hods only the emptiness of my life

 

realizing my face , no slight of hand

she reaches from her pocket

drops something useful so that i can pretend i found it.

 

 

 

c Mogan Lyons 2016

 

peace, ruff notes from the other morning

 

there is no

religion

of

peace

only

people

of peace

be one

~

there is no need

to

prove

anything

to any god

 

whatever god

there is

already knows

 

it takes no

courage

to prove

yourself to god

~

only peace

requires courage,

great courage

 

be couragous

~

what is peace?

it is nothing passive,

it is the

compassionate

forgiving

confident

actions

of a

courageous person

be one

 

ruff notes on a blue paper with photographs by pd Lyons

 

just another piece of my heart

 my little blue wolves

someday soon

the hunter

lonely

vulnerable

edible

will come

don’t worry

 

She on many occasions

felt an entanglement

of her own physicality

No matter how much

knowledge acquired,

philosophy believed in,

a mans world stuck in her head

and not the James Browns version.

 

our young pale fish bodies

enter paler our silver blood

occult our hearts still

 beat  mono chromatic 

          mono chromatic

          mono chromatic

porcelain knows nothing

of our muted skin

 

 

ruff off the cuff, a love poem with photos by pd lyons

lemons with stainless steel by pdlyons

 

the old religion of your eyes

an accent of long strings made from the heart of my wild days

contrary backwards ridden horses

painted  nights of our own solitude

mystical marvelous

fingerprints phosphorescent

 

our mouths still meet like that

all blue tattoo

all willingly open  offerings of  sky

fearless

 cities of our violence ebbing rhythmically

 a shore line languid with our peace