Poem for All Seasons by pd lyons

The shade

of

old

trees

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  ever onward something goes

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  nyc pdlyons

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what is true remains.

for me writing is something I do, sometimes I want to sometimes I don’t, but always I do. as if someday maybe all those written words sifted through, subtracted from ,will leave remaining some thing I don’t know, but want to find out – what’s left after I subtract all the words of a life time – that’s what I want from it. For what is true remains.

 

sometimes in this writing life

something simple, by pd lyons ( once we knew the dark version)

Something Simple

~

The day.
Something simple not leaving the house
skimming papers     smoking hours      flipping books    peering between drawn drapes.
Nowadays don’t I take pleasure in being home?
Full belly    half asleep fire    watching my daughter dance in velvet Christmas glittering tree.
I’m not famous    an artist years ago     paintings thrown out by irate siblings     unpublished work     a lifetime boxed in someone else’s attic.
I have learned how to deal with dreams too late to ever come true
now quietly taking for granted those that did:
loyal loving partner      wonderful son     brilliant daughter
long meandering memories –
foreign travel     lingering lovers     illicit pleasures     destructive passions

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Full out gallop mare
Along a razor ridge
United in a pure meditation of action
Free from imagination
Neither of us afraid

a litany of loss and of things waiting to be lost

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communion with wise spirits of trees
clumsy conjurings of Beelzebub
child like hands held by Christ
 Mescaline white horse breathing desert visions
Gopi Krishna rapture
Goddess full moon dances
secret gold fish pools soft dark woodland sand against pale entwined bodies

If we just gave up,
which god would
save us?

~

 

sheltered by empty doorways

not wanting to miss one moment
rain whispered possibilities

in wonder two Christ’s on a jagged perch
before us spread like glory

a temptation to cling

seeking to destroy our souls

 

 

true

 

there is no “how to write” any more than there is a how to pee – eventually you get on with it no matter where you are, no matter what you know, don’t know or think you know; a matter of urgency not choice