1972 poems by pd lyons

thanks to my friend Dave Evon for finding and sending this to me.

so we have moved

we are now living in galway, over looking the bay. decided to move july 20. arrived here august 26. very busy time. finally feeling a little settled. spent the last few hours working on new book of poetry, "The Girlz". hope to have a finished manuscript by weeks end. Have about two hundred pages to sort out, final edits, culls,order,format etc. and then the easy part - a publisher.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1f0py2QhHNQ

April 14, 2012 (part one)

Marshland for breakfast, eggs flavour of cooking oil, on the side bland lumps the texture of hard cooked potatoes, cups of generously refilled brown water slightly hot. Maybe they sold the place? Been coming here since the 80's and never so bad. Now its a real cant say it was good but cant say you didn't get it cause it all was there and it looked exactly like it was supposed to. Back in Beacon Falls, back when Beacon Falls was still a town not cut off from the world by the new routing of the highway. Route eight used to go right through the centre, traffic lights pedestrians, shops, school buses and all. There was this place there used to serve Yuban coffee when Yuban was about two dollars more that any other can on the shelf - 100% Columbian when it meant something. It was good and made strong and people used to talk about it, tell other people about it and how you could get refill after refill. And the food? Good basic fare made as if they were going to eat it themselves. They also made chocolates there. I remember it was around Easter the last time I was there, all these baskets lined up under glass, all made of chocolate as if they were wove out of chocolate and rows of eggs, chocolate eggs with windows and you could look into little scenes of pink and yellow sugar activities. I was working with Joey then. We were on the road five days a week covering the state of Connecticut, spraying trees for gypsy moths.

Where does it all come from?

Where does it all come from? walk through the grocery store look at all the stuff. Where does it all come from? How can there be so much? Coffee; there’s’ about thirty brands on the shelf, instant, ground, whole bean, decaf, French roast and etc. roasts. Then figure at least a half dozen grocery stores in town all with similar shelving plus IGA’s, convenience, starchuck’s, mcburger’s, duncandodo’s, diners and various etceteras all selling coffee and coffee product. Multiple by number of stores doing this in Connecticut, then multiply by number of stores in USA, Europe, China, Australia, world. Figure all their stock plus wholesalers warehouses and how do they do it? How can there be that much coffee in the world? How is that much of a product that is so labour intensive to produce, and in limited geographical and environmental areas, exist in such massive amount as and for such a cheap price? You can but a can of store brand for two dollars, name brands average about five bucks. Ok then what about shrimp/prawns? Think of them in the same way. How many pounds of shrimp are hanging around in an average US grocery shop? You got fresh, frozen, canned, farmed, wild  and about a half dozen types/sizes. Where does it all come from? How did Thailand get so big? How can even the ocean so vast grow so much of one creature? remember not just grocery stock but restaurants, diners; not just your town but the whole USA and the rest of the world. Shouldn’t shrimp be extinct or else very very expensive? How can they be so cheap? You know wild caught cod fish fillets can be caught processed shipped to Connecticut and I can buy it for less than seven dollars a pound. So oil, petrol, gasoline; how many gallons do I use a day driving my Jeep about hundred miles daily average? How many gallons do you use? How many gas stations are there in my town, your town, the world? Where does it all come from? How many cars? How many people who drive them? How many people who want to get one? Where does it all come from? Where is it all going?

re Joyce part 4

Three minuets to home and home work. Not too bad though. They were nuts for it back in Ireland, sometimes two hours or more of the stuff in third class. She still missed her friends from the little two room school house, neighbours, could walk the lane be at their house in a few minuets. Ten years old and she had lived in three different countries, Ireland, Canada, America, in six different homes and for three months in a tent. Little gypsy indeed, first transatlantic crossing at six weeks, learned to walk on the most exquisite beaches Nysna Indian Ocean South Africa. Now she was learning French, Spanish, long division in Litchfield Connecticut and writing stories and poems, he forte, counted as homework! Voluntarily she'd taken up chorus. Voluntarily she was attending school full stop. Originally the plan had been for home school. Dad would be the teacher. Research into the legalities and curriculum had been done, contact with local support groups had been made and she had drawn up the schedule herself, all prior to the move. During the summer there were tours of the local school. He told her about it. Told her they could go just to see. "What if I don't like it? what if I still want  home school?"  "No matter what", he said, "you can choose." So they went. Met the teachers of the fourth grade, saw the art room, the music room, the library , the computer room, the gym, the stage, the cafe and on the way out she asked, "Dad? Would it be alright if I went to this school?" She hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings about his not being the teacher any more.

Almost the rain like Ireland

Almost the rain like Ireland as if there were a dirt lane lead down to the lake of fairy sighs strung like vertical pearls a mist rising a silence of swans broken by small woodland birds come to flirt among briar's still bare. The snow drops bloom like small stars bright on slender green so tender primrose cowslip daffodil cannot be far away. But now coffee's ready  some when I pour and hissed complaints I must go tend to spill some when i pour and small terriers black and brown, tabby cats and winter horses on the island distract my thoughts almost scald myself forgetting the pressure and steam when prepping the next cup, for Michelle. So now mill town of my birth dawn. Connecticut ruins of over taxed former industrialist empty factory town. Here we are on the outskirts, half hour drive to work. Here we are making money for high rent poor food and tickets "home" for as close as we can afford it Christmas. We have no terrier or cats and horses are a gone thin smoke distant dream. But sometimes there are whitetail deer poke around the old apple trees out the back of our rented house. One night recently a fox left foot prints in the snow circling the house kept to the side walk until crossing his own trail veered off into the filed of abandoned farmland.