Tag Archives: waterbury ct

Twilight Zone Episode Love Story by PD Lyons ~ read by the author


a girl, a bar, a friend, a gin, a city ~

a bit of memory lane

from the book ~ As If the Rain Fell in Ordinary Time, by PD Lyons, 2019

the poet PD Lyons reading


the poet PD Lyons reading from the book. Winner of the erbacce-prize for poetry 2019.

today’s menu

Grandview Ave.

Morning Piece

Jack, Who No One Reads

~ Themes: cities, love, coffee, crushing, Waterbury ct. New haven ct. NYC.NY.

PD Lyons reading the first three from As If The Rain Fell In Ordinary Time


 

As the events of 2020 put paid to my intention to promote this book via live readings etc. I have decided to simply read the book in order on short videos. I believe the work should be heard and hope to make that happen here. Thank you if you have for listening. cheers pdlyonspoet@yahoo.co.uk. These first tree are based on my urban youth. Waltzing the Night, Promised Land, Today You Want to See Priscilla ~ c2019 pd lyons

 

  • Waltzing the Night

 

holding ourselves like prayers between each other
all summer sway cool tall screened windows
bright sound crickets fireflies glimmer
bare feet, beating hearts
soft by each other’s breath
accented full moon kisses
beyond any daytime horizon…

~

it was one o’clock this morning.
woke up no reason
kitchen floor so cold I hurt for shoes
stood there adjusting to Frigidaire light
three bottles of beer on the second shelf
opened one by the window
chugged away to those long
hard rain halos

 

it’s not the city I used to know with you

 

maybe I go for another
maybe it’ll help me sleep
probably not
these days once I’m up
even beer can’t touch me
deserted by even the small comfort of your ghost
still I sway as if somehow
we’re dancing

 

  • Promised Land                                                                                       

 

14 stories up

Sometime after all the twilight zones had ended

Crane my head twin tower view.

 Count all the windows I could see that held a light

 

Another smoke

Watch across the west side highway for freighters

Illumination not of a land locked sort proving an Island after all.

 

I could not help the way we burned through our time together

 How hungry I was

How urgent that you be hungrier.

We left it spinning, the world we knew

Our ragged selves

Cities of our hearts

Wilderness of our bodies

Ghosts of unborn children

Smoke cross the promised land –

What could we give that had not passed?

 

There was that old Pontiac

 Yellow primer Firebird.

 Day into the drink already.

Gonna drive to the city.

You said you had to pee first.

  1. Parked at the mall.

You kicked open the door, got out

Instead of going in squatted right there.

Deluge beats over the black top.

 

 Got in a row over that.

For some reason it really pissed me off.

Then in ever escalation you said something.

Whatever it was it made me so sorry for yelling.

I hugged you, cried all over you.

 

We got better after that.

Dried off, had a smoke.

Then I drove.

 

  • Today You Want to See Priscilla

                                                                                                                             

She lives two blocks up

from where you have to live with your father

because Priscilla is crazy, and you couldn’t

stay with her.

 

Priscilla makes her money from the cards. But

whenever you ask her to read yours, she always says

she knows you too well and that knowledge

clouds her wisdom.

 

You want to go up to her today, watching from

her cool back room through a crack in the door –

Priscilla, her rich fingers fat with bands of gold and sparkling stones

spreading cards by candlelight

speaking to some stranger in that different kind of voice even you would hardly know.

  

You’re on your way but then Carey has himself a dollar

So, the afternoon gets spent at Daz’s where pin ball’s still a dime

and sometimes you play good enough to pop for extra games

 

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Two from My Childhood Home in Waterbury Ct. by PD Lyons. read by the poet


When we Lived on Nelson Ave.
PD Lyons

days when my father took milk and sugar
leaving the spoon in his coffee
my mother whistled among lilacs and roses
mahogany furniture kept well polished
 special knives and forks only used on holidays

I knew the name of Lilly of the valley
not to ever put them in your mouth

there were kittens in the sun porch
we watched born from a tabby cat named Felix

there were cherries from our backyard tree
so red I thought they were black,
tasting like no cherries
ever would again

 

 

The Girl Next Door 
By PD Lyons

When I remember
Third floor windows
Tall white lace sails
Summer all running in our veins
Her mother in the kitchen
Making cool aid and plate full of something
Cookie sweet to eat

She wanted me to stay
I was afraid, wanted to go home
But didn’t want her to know
Not wanting to be in this house of too many windows
Overlooking the valley

But she wanted me to stay
Besides the rains begun
Going to be a real storm
Already rumblings a darkening horizon

 her mother agreed
I’ll call your parents. They won’t be worried.
You can stay for supper. You like hot dogs don’t you?

 that was how I learned not to be afraid of storms
Not to hide from thunder or lightning
Frances and her mother, exuberant
Ohs  ahs  joy over every
Menacing vibration sudden crash
Every flash veining skeletal zigzag

my father, my mother, Yeats, golden apples & silver apples – reading by PD Lyons


read by PD Lyons poet~

The Song of the Wandering Aengus by WB Yeats & Somewhere Still by PD Lyons

The Song of the Wandering Aengus by WB Yeats from Eveeryman’s Poetry, J.M. Dent, Orien Publishing. London 1998 Somewhere Still by PD Lyons from When You Worship Swans No Longer Limited Edition, Supported by Westmeath County Arts, 2017

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
Source: The Wind Among the Reeds (1899)

.Noun. 1. Aengus – Celtic god of love and beauty; patron deity of young men and women. Angus, Angus Og, Oengus.

SOMEWHERE STILL by PD Lyons

Somewhere there is still a place, you sitting in the sun, concrete porch paving slabs, Cape Cod Grey picnic table, small summer savages running jumping clinging – immune bare feet impervious to sun. Skin frosted with salt, lotions, cake icing.
Somewhere children still take your hand, invite you to cross the street walk with them down to the beach, taking them sometimes instead to lunch…
Long-time companions, comforts of old age, afternoon naps, books, TV, mail order catalogues, big band music and too those ever-dangerous memories – love, marriage, a hole never in twenty-three years has time healed.
Somewhere she still takes you by the hand. Ohs your name laughs into the open window, Fifty-five Chevy, summer bright chrome. So close to flying great American V8 highways up through the Canadian border dwindling into heavy Nova Scotia sands.
There has never been an ocean too cold for her to swim in. Long after your retreat to safety – 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). Watch that woman of the sea; only wish there would never have to be a time to leave.
Later she gets tipsy; acquiescing when the waiter offers to sweeten her drink no knowing here to sweeten means more liquor. Out on the dance floor, hold each other tight as you want because she’s your wife now and you always liked the Mills Brothers.
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 just like W.B. said –
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.)

my father, my mother, Yeats, golden apples & silver apples – reading by PD Lyons


read by PD Lyons poet~

The Song of the Wandering Aengus by WB Yeats & Somewhere Still by PD Lyons

The Song of the Wandering Aengus by WB Yeats from Eveeryman’s Poetry, J.M. Dent, Orien Publishing. London 1998 Somewhere Still by PD Lyons from When You Worship Swans No Longer Limited Edition, Supported by Westmeath County Arts, 2017

 

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
Source: The Wind Among the Reeds (1899)

.Noun. 1. Aengus – Celtic god of love and beauty; patron deity of young men and women. Angus, Angus Og, Oengus.

SOMEWHERE STILL by PD Lyons

Somewhere there is still a place, you sitting in the sun, concrete porch paving slabs, Cape Cod Grey picnic table, small summer savages running jumping clinging – immune bare feet impervious to sun. Skin frosted with salt, lotions, cake icing.
Somewhere children still take your hand, invite you to cross the street walk with them down to the beach, taking them sometimes instead to lunch…
Long-time companions, comforts of old age, afternoon naps, books, TV, mail order catalogues, big band music and too those ever-dangerous memories – love, marriage, a hole never in twenty-three years has time healed.
Somewhere she still takes you by the hand. Ohs your name laughs into the open window, Fifty-five Chevy, summer bright chrome. So close to flying great American V8 highways up through the Canadian border dwindling into heavy Nova Scotia sands.
There has never been an ocean too cold for her to swim in. Long after your retreat to safety – 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). Watch that woman of the sea; only wish there would never have to be a time to leave.
Later she gets tipsy; acquiescing when the waiter offers to sweeten her drink no knowing here to sweeten means more liquor. Out on the dance floor, hold each other tight as you want because she’s your wife now and you always liked the Mills Brothers.
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 just like W.B. said –
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.)

my father, my mother, Yeats, golden apples & silver apples – reading by PD Lyons


read by PD Lyons poet~

The Song of the Wandering Aengus by WB Yeats & Somewhere Still by PD Lyons

The Song of the Wandering Aengus by WB Yeats from Eveeryman’s Poetry, J.M. Dent, Orien Publishing. London 1998 Somewhere Still by PD Lyons from When You Worship Swans No Longer Limited Edition, Supported by Westmeath County Arts, 2017

 

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
Source: The Wind Among the Reeds (1899)

.Noun. 1. Aengus – Celtic god of love and beauty; patron deity of young men and women. Angus, Angus Og, Oengus.

SOMEWHERE STILL by PD Lyons

Somewhere there is still a place, you sitting in the sun, concrete porch paving slabs, Cape Cod Grey picnic table, small summer savages running jumping clinging – immune bare feet impervious to sun. Skin frosted with salt, lotions, cake icing.
Somewhere children still take your hand, invite you to cross the street walk with them down to the beach, taking them sometimes instead to lunch…
Long-time companions, comforts of old age, afternoon naps, books, TV, mail order catalogues, big band music and too those ever-dangerous memories – love, marriage, a hole never in twenty-three years has time healed.
Somewhere she still takes you by the hand. Ohs your name laughs into the open window, Fifty-five Chevy, summer bright chrome. So close to flying great American V8 highways up through the Canadian border dwindling into heavy Nova Scotia sands.
There has never been an ocean too cold for her to swim in. Long after your retreat to safety – 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). Watch that woman of the sea; only wish there would never have to be a time to leave.
Later she gets tipsy; acquiescing when the waiter offers to sweeten her drink no knowing here to sweeten means more liquor. Out on the dance floor, hold each other tight as you want because she’s your wife now and you always liked the Mills Brothers.
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 just like W.B. said –
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.)

Immortal Beloved as read by the author PD Lyons from As If the Rain Fell In Ordinary Time


the un true thing is NOT Beethoven. Thank you for watching 

Twilight Zone Episode Love Story by PD Lyons ~ read by the author


a girl, a bar, a friend, a gin, a city ~

a bit of memory lane

from the book ~ As If the Rain Fell in Ordinary Time, by PD Lyons, 2019

 

Promised Land from As If The rain Fell In Ordinary Time ~ read by the Poet


MORE REMINISCENCE FROM THE CITIES. a LITTLE BIT OF NYC 1980’S WITH A DASH OF WATERBURY CT AND SOME POLITICALLY  INCORRECT DRIVING REFERENCES.

THANK YOU FOR SPENDING TIME WITH ME.

GOOD LUCK! Bye.

CHEERS.

 

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