Looking for Work in Dublin by pd lyons as published by The Legendary

 

 

Looking For Work In Dublin

~
The same girl sitting on different buses going by over and over I knew if I saw her one more time the rest of the world would completely liquefy and go with her. Wishing to avoid that whirlpool of a thing I knocked back the coffee, paid and left keeping my eyes firmly focused on the sidewalk made my way to Eccles Street. Sidewalk, crosswalk not daring to look up risking my life in the traffic like a blind man saving the world.

~

In the crumbling doorways tilted columns boarded windows planning permission posters all along the way safe to be looked at on the right side of the street I had no fear of buses as the decaying signs of Eccles street lead me down to the Georgian centre for saving the ruined life of city boys saving ruins among the ruins 90 days repairs a lifetime then out with you maybe meet again in some emergency of violence queued up amidst the hospital flu wishing you weren’t here.
there must be some as yet undiscovered carpet to sweep you under.

~

On my helter skelter straight way down to the bus station maybe O’Connell street. instead some nameless to me slope of a road not too far is that the tower of Ulysses where once Telemachus watched black mass Mulligan sacred shaving interrupted by old Ireland who may have forgotten her own tongue but remembering to bring the milk had her tits compared to moocows and other things I cannot now remember. everything old once was new like some profundity this rolls around in my brain tickling something in me I’m not sure of any more than why.

~

Cutting across I decide on O’Connell, I am afraid of the city only now when I am so indecisive about destinations as if there is some gang of violence waiting for that sign I send of not knowing where I’m going. Jackals of the lost man wandering seeking safety in the numbers of O’Connell, safe among the herds, oblivious to the old, ignorant of the new. penniless. No merchants sanctuary, a foreigner among the African languages and Friesian competitors, children named Rosalitta frown then smile, German hippies Burberry plaid guitars,

~

Somehow I don’t belong except to old bullet holes on the GPO, rusted tin enamelled placards above the discount shop on Talbot, soldier statues, new inns ward, eroded Grecian friezes on greasy brick work, stained glass window cracked holes. Noticing no one seems to notice like me wanting to some how take the time to repair myself, remind myself, inquire of the passer byes as to whom they attribute freedom to.

~

We are in a hurry to forget, do our best to not remember.
There has never been another day like today
There has never been another way
It has always been so
World without life
Amen.
~

A long cat stretch beach of green benches
Cobble stone tides break debris from yesterday’s storm
Soggy cardboard
Bleached pigeon bones
Desperate for sunglasses
Into the leather sleeves of my dreams

 

 

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

another published by the good folks at the legendary (May 20, 2010. Issue 17.) http://www.downdirtyword.com/authors/pdlyons.html#ps   

this would have been written in 1998 my just having moved from the states to Ireland. I had little knowledge of the city at the time which for me is the most inspiring time of any city – ones first experiences with a foreign land.

Looking for Work In Dublin, by pd lyons

Looking For Work In Dublin

The same girl sitting on different buses going by over and over I knew if I saw her one more time the rest of the world would completely liquefy and go with her. Wishing to avoid that whirlpool of a thing I knocked back the coffee, paid and left keeping my eyes firmly focused on the sidewalk made my way to Eccles Street. Sidewalk, crosswalk not daring to look up risking my life in the traffic like a blind man saving the world.

In the crumbling doorways tilted columns boarded windows planning permission posters all along the way safe to be looked at on the right side of the street I had no fear of buses as the decaying signs of Eccles street lead me down to the Georgian centre for saving the ruined life of city boys saving ruins among the ruins 90 days repairs a lifetime then out with you maybe meet again in some emergency of violence queued up amidst the hospital flu wishing you weren’t here.
there must be some as yet undiscovered carpet to sweep you under.

On my helter skelter straight way down to the bus station maybe O’Connell street. instead some nameless to me slope of a road not too far, is that the tower of Ulysses where once Telemachus watched black mass Mulligan sacred shaving interrupted by old Ireland who may have forgotten her own tongue but remembering to bring the milk had her tits compared to moo cows and other things I cannot now remember. everything old once was new like some profundity this rolls around in my brain tickling something in me I’m not sure of any more than why.

Cutting across I decide on O’Connell, I am afraid of the city only now when I am so indecisive about destinations as if there is some gang of violence waiting for that sign I send of not knowing where I’m going. Jackals of the lost man wandering seeking safety in the numbers of O’Connell, safe among the herds, oblivious to the old, ignorant of the new. penniless. No merchants sanctuary, a foreigner among the African languages and Friesian competitors, children named Rosalitta frown then smile, German hippies Burberry plaid guitars,

Somehow I don’t belong except to old bullet holes on the GPO, rusted tin enamelled placards above the discount shop on Talbot, soldier statues, new inns ward, eroded Grecian friezes on greasy brick work, stained glass window cracked holes. Noticing no one seems to notice like me wanting to some how take the time to repair myself, remind myself, enquire of the passer byes as to whom they attribute freedom to.

We are in a hurry to forget, do our best to not remember.

There has never been another day like today
There has never been another way
It has always been so
World without life
Amen.

A long cat stretch beach of green benches
Cobble stone tides break debris from yesterday’s storm
Soggy cardboard
Bleached pigeon bones
Desperate for sunglasses
Into the leather sleeves of my dreams

I lean

an earlier version of the was published by : The Legendary, Down Dirty Word, issue#16 –

http://www.downdirtyword.com/authors/pdlyons.html#tp

say yes. “yes”

“…I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.” Ulysses J. Joyce

 

yes

May Day/ for dublin

 

Looking For Work In Dublin

 

The same girl sitting on different buses going by over and over I knew if I saw her one more time the rest of the world would completely liquefy and go with her. Wishing to avoid that whirlpool of a thing I knocked back the coffee, paid and left keeping my eyes firmly focused on the side-walk made my way to Eccles street. Side-walk, cross-walk not daring to look up risking my life in the traffic like a blind man saving the world.

 

 

In the crumbling doorways tilted columns boarded windows planning permission posters all along the way safe to be looked at on the right side of the street I had no fear of buses as the decaying signs of Eccles street lead me down to the Georgian centre for saving the ruined life of city boys saving ruins among the ruins 90 days repairs a lifetime then out with you maybe meet again in some emergency of violence queued up amidst the hospital flu wishing you weren’t here.

there must be some as yet undiscovered carpet to sweep you under.

 

On my helter skelter straight way down to the bus station maybe O’Connell street. instead some nameless to me slope of a road not to far is that the tower of Ulysses where once Telemachus watched black mass Mulligan sacred shaving interrupted by old Ireland who may have forgotten her own tongue but remembering to bring the milk had her tits compared to moo-cows and other things I cannot now remember. everything old once was new like some profundity this rolls around in my brain tickling something in me I’m not sure of any more than why.

 

 

Cutting across I decide on O’Connell, I am afraid of the city only now when I am so indecisive about destinations as if there is some gang of violence waiting for that sign I send of not knowing where I’m going. Jackals of the lost man wandering seeking safety in the numbers of O’Connell, safe among the herds, oblivious to the old, ignorant of the new. penniless. No merchants sanctuary, a foreigner among the African languages and Friesian competitors, children named Rosalitta frown then smile, German hippies Burberry plaid guitars,

 

Somehow I don’t belong except to old bullet holes on the GPO, rusted tin enamelled placards above the discount shop on Talbot, soldier statues, new inns ward, eroded Grecian friezes on greasy brick work, stained glass window cracked holes. Noticing no one seems to notice like me wanting to some how take the time to repair myself, remind myself, inquire of the passer byes as to whom they attribute freedom to.

 

We are in a hurry to forget, do our best to not remember.

 

There has never been another day like today

There has never been another way

It has always been so

World without life

Amen.

 

A long cat stretch beach of green benches

Cobble stone tides break debris from yesterday’s storm

Soggy cardboard

Bleached pigeon bones

Desperate for sunglasses

 

Into the leather sleeves of my dreams

I fold my head.

 

 

say no to spell check mar 4, oz10

Good morning at 7. making coffee and letting the sun in Rigoletto on the radio Morgan up and waiting for pancakes, shelly not far behind to make the oatmeal ( honey cinammon pin head n flakes). By ten afetr 8 they are on their was, morgan to school, shelly to the library in mullingar. she’ll be calling the u.s. embassy today from the moblie. got a call yrasterday, message for her to call them re visa immigration etc. First time they ever gave us a phone number. so today might be the day we know for sure where, at least what country we’re gonna live in. 8:20 writing new poems, well editing. check email and such. will be starting new collection. Have been reading Joyce again. Ulysses this time. got a good edition, the print is big enough and spaces comfortable enough to make out the words comfortably. one of the most important things, if you want a chance with ulysses you need a well-printed edition. this one is published by everymans editions 2005 i think. so just getting into the kidney of the thing. dont know how well it goes but i know this, joyce loved words and more important i think he loved the sounds of words. i find i must be able to take the time to read each word slowly fully mouthing them as i go and i dont know about understanding it but i know i like what it does to me, and when all else fails i think how was this guy who wrote such a thing in the 20’s or was it the 30’s? either way. And i must always be ready to stop n or start when the mood is on me. if someone is putting the muse before you, you dont ask too many questions, you dont need to understand, but you do need to pay attnetion and then if you’re luck you will emerge an appricate. so no joyce scholar me. Much prefer Portrait of the artist, where some of the most beautiful sentences, paragraphs, writing i have ever read live.

anyway, write now for an hour I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart. -( wb yeats ),

then yoga om mani padme humng, then meditiation and on the out breath death, then…