Feeling the warmth of the sun on a cloudy day. A glimpse into a blind billy goat's unique, ever changing perspectives.

2016 05 22 A Dear Friend May 22, 2016

I lost a dear friend the other day. This friend I had known since 1986, and their presence in my life grew larger and larger with each passing year. This friend reached out to the world as they opened up their arms to greet each morning with a wide eyed yawn reminiscent of a young, inquisitive child. An innocent learner of the seasons who never asked for anything, yet never stopped giving.


Oh how I admired this friend over the years. Oh how I thanked them for always being there, no matter what came their way. Oh how I learned to love them just as they were, and how over the years I saw how others saw in them those same qualities that caused me to stand and stare up at them, as their inspiration continued to flood my world.


Since 1986, the old maple tree in front of our home has sheltered us from the cold, storming winds out of the west. The old maple tree hugged our home and warmed our spirits with a constant blanket of security. The old maple tree gave us shade against the blistering hands of the summer sun and gathered the songs of the birds with each new day’s dawn.


The strong limbs of our dear friend grew brittle as the years passed, but still, our old maple tree continued to stand strong and proud as it watched over the Battleridge.


The other morning, I walked up to where our old friend stood for so many years, and as I knelt down and reached out, I couldn’t believe she was gone. The emptiness I felt was similar to those same feelings I had when our barn came down. A hole in my heart that just didn’t make any sense.


We tend to grow fond of certain things in our lives. We love without knowing, and as the days continue to pass, we hang on to the memories with a passion that we can rarely explain.


For thirty years the majestic maple burst with life every spring. Her unfolding leaves sang to life as the wind whistled down from the mountains, and as I knelt there on our front lawn, I could hear her whispering good bye.


There’s an empty place in my soul.

There’s a void that I can’t explain.

There’s a calling that I hear along the wind.

There’s a friend that I will forever be grateful for.


As I sit here and write, I am being flooded with emotions. I shake my head and wonder why, I mean, over a tree? Really?


Yes, over a tree. A rock solid, tall, proud, beautiful   maple tree if you please, and yes, a dear friend indeed.


2016 05 15 Conductor May 15, 2016

And here we are, smack dab in the middle of another month. The 15th of May snuck in and took up right where the 14th left off, and I hardly even noticed.

It’s been a couple weeks since my last post, and I can honestly say that I miss those “poem a day” days of April. I discovered a lot, wrote a little more, made a few rhymes and created a couple of poems that I really enjoyed as I went and read them back.

It’s hard for me to say which style of writing I like the best. I do love to write poetry quite a bit. The musical flow of the texted lyrics have a strange effect on me. Sometimes when I read the words back, it’s as if a conductor is standing in front of an orchestra, and as he waves his baton back and forth, he smiles and closes his eyes as the melody lifts him high into the evening air and whisks him away, along side a soothing piece of music that only he can hear.

As the music flows, so too does the mind.

I love the flow of a poem. I love the highs, the lows, the rhythm and the movement from one line to the next. It’s a cascading, harmonic journey for me, and whether the poem rhymes or not, the magic of words never finds a home better suited than at home, in a poem.

Now I do love other styles of writing as well, such as short stories, fiction, non fiction essays, and the hundreds of different posts I have shared in my blog. There are quite a few short stories I have written that have taken my emotions and rocketed them to the moon and back. These emotions haven’t always been a companion of mine. As a young boy and man, I can rarely remember being caught up in my emotions the way I do today. In fact, the first time I remember being swept away by them was when I watched the 1982 movie, ET. How or why a little weird looking alien was able to hand me a box of tissues was, at the time, unrealistic for me, and to me. Never had I been handed a pocket full of tears as I was that day in Buffalo. Although I was a little confused with it all, I was also completely entertained and relished the memories of that movie for, well, until this day.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I have no answers why as I grow older, that I’m seemingly more in touch with my feelings. If any of you are hollering out, “You’re a Metro Sexual Male?!” all I can say is that I don’t believe in trendy labels of the times. I mean, labels come and go, but feelings and emotions have been with us since a human first broke a bone.


Never mind.

I do love to write, and although I haven’t been doing much of it lately, I still love to fill a page full of my thoughts, if for no other reason than being able to go back and read it myself.

What we go through in our lives is unique to us, and us alone. It is our life, our struggle, our emotions, our triumphs and our times to remember as we choose to. My memories are mine, and mine alone, and perhaps the reason I get caught up with emotions these days is because so much of what I go through is reminding me of those days gone by.

I know we all have memories, some good and some bad. Even though I have my share of less than good memories, they will never ever be able to hold a candle to those memories of mine that soothe my aching bones. Some of those memories of mine that make me smile are shared by others, but still, the ones that wrap around my mind are specially tailored for me and no one else. They are the ones that I can relate to, and as all of the new memories build and shape themselves, they’ll help define who I am as I become an older goat.

As the mind remembers back, the new memories rise up with each breath of this new day.

And again, another couple empty pages have been filled up with the gift of text. Never knowing where it’s going, it continues to go never the less, and on this 15th day of May, the breaths just keep coming.

Have a wicked good rest of your day, and thanks for the continued inspiration



2016 04 30 Poetry: 30 Ways April 30, 2016

And here we are, April the 30th. My oh my how this month has traveled quickly. Here one minute, May the next.

I must be honest with you all. I only cheated I think twice this month, in that I posted older writings. The other poems for the month were brand new, and most of those were written rather quickly, like within one hour. I think the longest I spent writing one of April’s poems was just short of one hour, 45 minutes. Honest. I hate to say it, but that’s how most of my poetry comes to me, quick and to the point, like a ping pong ball caught up in a twister.

Seriously though, I’d like to thank those of you who have commented on my writings. You know who you are, and you also know how much I am thankful for the opportunity to do this. It has been a challenge, but it has also been a lot of fun.

I enjoy writing. Always have, always will, I hope. I wish I had done more of it during my young adult years, but it just wasn’t meant to be. You see, a little thing called life caught up to me and chucked me ahead thirty or so years, and here I am. Grin

To my writing friends, thanks for another month of inspiration. To all of my friends, thanks for another month of friendship. To my God and my family, I run out of words after, “Thank You”.

Until next year, I hope the rest of this year brings you the gifts you will always remember. I hope that your health is good, and that your cup is full, every single day.

Thanks again, and always take care.




30 Ways
A poem by Deon Patrick Lyons

And so, April the 30th has come once again.
The errand of a fool must give way to a new name.
A new cycle of birthdays have celebrated the magic of their day.
The torch of spring will be handed off to the runner marked number 5.

Thirty days have patiently graced our paths.
Thirty nights the moon has fallen behind the night before.
Thirty times the earth has spun around.
Thirty different sunsets have followed thirty dawns.

Energetic hands of the clocks have kept us company throughout.
A billion cars have driven a trillion miles
One moon’s tides have all brought the treasures of the sea to our shores.
Eyes of innocence have watched a month of April sunrises.

Thousands of shooting stars have streaked across the spring nights.
A month full of tears has been wiped away by one single smile.
The cries of the newborn have filled the chambers of a beating heart.

May will come, as April did pass.
Another month older, thirty days wiser.
The sun climbs higher as the nights grow short.
The geese are beginning to unpack their summer luggage.

Thirty poems have filled the screen.
Thirty stories have found their way.
Thirty posts have hit the net.
Thirty ways this goat has smiled.


2016 04 29 Poetry: Son of My Son April 29, 2016

I am a son. I also have a son, who has a son. That makes me as old as I feel, and as blessed as I can be.

Growing up, I never dreamed I would get married, have a child and become a grand father. It just didn’t seem possible to me.

My son and his son came over for supper tonight. Hearing my grandson’s voice puts me in a dream like state of mind that soothes my tired bones. Trouble is though, as soonas they got here, it seems that only a few minutes went by and they had to leave.

This poem is about the relationship between grandfather and grand son. It is a joyous one that I am very thankful for and will never take for granted.

This is my 29th poem submission of the month, and I’d like to thank all the support I have received throughout this National Poetry Month.

Do take care, and have a great weekend.



Son Of My Son
A Poem by DP Lyons

Son of my son
Why do you run
Will you stop for a moment
And let me know

Son of my son
Why do you laugh
Come here for a moment
And show me the joy

Son of my son
What do you see
Come here for a moment
And show it to me

Son of my son
How do you feel
Come here for a moment
And let me feel it too

Son of my son
How do you know
Come here for a moment
And read it to me

Son of my son
Where will you go
Come back for a moment
And show me the way

Son of my son
Why do you ask
Come sit here by me
And let me explain

Son of my son
Who will you love
Come here for a moment
And tell me of her smile

Son of my son
Who will you teach
Come here for a moment
And teach me too

Oh Son of my son
Why do you cry
Come here for a moment
And let me dry your tears

Son of my son
Take me along
Take hold of my hand
And guide me

Son of my son
Give love to my son
Tell him his son
Is as loved as my son

Son of my son
Remember to love
The son of your son
As the father of your father loves you


2016 04 28 Poetry: So Much More April 28, 2016

What’s your question? Are you looking for a particular answer? Is your inquisitive nature ever satisfied? Will it ever be?

So many questions, so little time. The never ending mirage of curiosity is like a perpetual engine running forever, eternity, infinitum, a really long time.

I have asked more questions than have been answered, and in this respect, I’m probably just like every other person who has ever walked the face of this big blue marble under our feet. Live a little, learn a lot, wonder even more, and then, life continues to move on.

Today is April 28, and don’t look now, but the month is winding down. I have written more this month than I probably have since this time last year. With all of the school work, emails, and these poems I have posted, there’s a lot of writing, but I don’t really notice, because you see, my screen reader keeps me company through it all.

Hmm. Sounds like the making of perhaps poem number 29?

And here is poem number 28. I hope that this poem, this blog, this day finds you doing exceptionally well, and I thank you for stopping by.

Do take care, and remember to keep on asking questions. You just never know what kind of an answer you’re gonna get.



So Much More
A poem by DP Lyons

Never forget those searching eyes,
Never rely on the obvious.
Never miss a day filled with a new beginning.

When will we learn how to see?
How will we learn where to look?
When will we learn how to notice?

So much more lies beyond.
So much more develops within.
So much more.

Open those eyes and look through the heart.
Open the mind and look through the soul.
Open those arms and embrace the new.

The vision is born within the mind.
The mind is a magnet.
The world is magnetic.

The union is destiny.
The result is life.


2016 04 27 Poetry: Board Upon the Black April 27, 2016

Hello and good evening. This is April 27 and this is poem number 27. Holy crap, right?

Time sure does have a way of flying by when you’re having fun, and if you’re not having fun, don’t blame me.

Speaking of not having fun, have I told you how much I haven’t enjoyed using the college online classroom known as Black Board? I didn’t? Hmm.

This program is one of the hardest digital things I have ever done. It’s never the same two days in a row, and I’m beginning to think that’s got something to do with me. I know, I know, you’re probably thinking, “Oh my Deon, how can that be?” Well, let me tell you, I don’t have a clue, so let’s continue.

I am in college, and I am on the verge of getting smarter. Notice I said, getting smarter, which means that for the most part, it ain’t happened yet. There’s plenty of time though, and time I got.

I just said basically the same thing in two different ways, didn’t I? Hmm.

Anyway, Black Board is a son of a program that doesn’t play favorites in any shape or form. It has everything you need, but it’s hid it all throughout the universe of digital dilemma. In other words, if it ain’t broke, log in and it soon will be.

Below you’ll find a poem I wrote that takes us on a journey through a day in the life of a goat trying to make heads or tails out of a program called; you guessed it, Black Board.

I hope this finds you all well, and if it doesn’t, it’s gotta be the shoes.

Take care, and I’ll see ya tomorrow.



Board Upon the Black
A poem by DP Lyons

Oh great college Black Board in the sky,
I have brought you a single piece of chalk.
There are rumors that you haven’t any need of it though,
So I’ll inconspicuously save it for someone who’ll at least appreciate it.

Each day when I shuffle into your digital room,
I never know what my searching soul is going to find.
The accolades of higher education encircle your classroom walls,
But I can’t seem to find my way into the stupid building.

I have come, I have studied and I have tried to learn.
I have cursed my tab and arrow keys,
And I have pressed and held down my computer’s power button,
But you just don’t seem to give a flying freckle.

Your electronic phrases built upon zeroes and ones
Are some days like a riddled Gotham script.
I’ve asked your hall monitor for directions through your digital dream,
But by the glazed look in their eye, they must have been using an analog map.

I glance affectionately towards a far off distant plateau,
Where desires are quenched with a fountain of your knowledge.
I ask for strength to endure your mindful maze,
And hold high my praise to those who figured out this crap.

Oh Board upon the Black, ease my teachable soul.
Lend me your educating flame as a guiding torch.
Hear my questions, my curiosity, my plea,
To cool it a bit and cut me some frigging slack.

Thanks for nothing.


2016 04 26 Poetry: Always and Forever April 26, 2016

I’ve often wondered where it comes from. I’ve often thought about how to use it. From my earliest recollections, there has been a force in my life that has had a hand in what I did, how I did it, and where I thought of taking all of the things in my life that mattered to me.

Life has a way of supplying us with not necessarily what we want, but what we need. Sometimes what we need is the furthest thing from what we want, and well, you know how relentless the human psyche can be at times.

If you ever wonder how you made it through a difficult time, or managed to complete a seemingly insurmountable task, there’s probably one thing, and one thing alone that’s responsible.

Today is April 26, and below you will find poem number 26 of this, the National Poetry Month. Thanks again for dropping by my blog.

Now then, carry on.

You might be amazed with what transpires.



Always and Forever
A poem by DP Lyons

Constantly changing.
Never dull.
Element of surprise.
Absolutely priceless.
Amazingly free.
Never questioned.
Often overlooked.
Hardly obsolete.
Sometimes alone.
Sometimes in good company.
Always useful.
Sadly discarded.
Hopefully never misused.
Never misguiding.
Never bartered.
Selectively absorbed.
Often loved.
Often utilized.
Often talked about.
Hardly ever offered.
Unknowingly maintained.
Hopefully trusted.
Always original.
Never selfish.
Never shameful.
Never hurtful.
Sometimes brave.
Sometimes courageous.
Sometimes dignified.
Sometimes determined.
Sometimes mine.
Sometimes yours.
Sometimes theirs.
Sometimes ours.

Always and forever,



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