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

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,


2016 04 25 Poetry: Ironic Fate April 25, 2016

What can I say? I love to write, and so, write I do. Most times I have no clue what I’m going to write, and some days, like today, it takes a while before the juices begin to flow. It’s like molasses running uphill on the eleventh of February. Slow as all get out is one way to say it, and I’m sure you’re thinking of other ways to cleverly describe it.

I have been afforded the ability to learn how to touch type, and most days, hearing the keys pop under my fingertips is music to my ears. It means that my mind is busy, and a busy mind helps me work my way through some days that need a lot of work to get through.

I love to write, but the words don’t always come easy to me. With so many experiences over the course of my life, I wonder why. It’s funny how some days the things I could write about flood my mush melon until I bounce off the wall like a June bug off of a screen window on a hot summer’s night. Poor little guy. Someone must have given him the wrong map.

If you like to write, good on ya. If you don’t like to write, but love to read, good on you too. If you don’t like to do either, then I’m wondering why you are here.

Anyways, this is the 25th of April, and this is poem number 25 of this, the National Poetry Month. I thank you for stopping by, and hope your week is a happy one.



Ironic Fate
A poem by DP Lyons

I couldn’t find any words the other day.
I just sat here and stared at the screen.
I didn’t have, couldn’t find, hadn’t barely a notion what to write,
So I just sat and stared a little more.

With a lifetime of days leading up to that point,
I found myself surrounded by ironic fate.
With joys and perils and mesmerizing sunrises abound,
My mind was temporarily closed for maintenance.

And so I thought as I sat, and sat as I thought,
But the words weren’t saying a word.
My repertoire of catchy clichés had wandered off,
Into a lonely abyss of idle dreams.

How could so many memories leave me so very alone?
Why should I have to scour my experiences for one single, elusive tale?
With all of the visions of a thousand yesterdays chasing the dreams of a single tomorrow,
Had that particular day somehow driven them all away?

And so, I continued to sit as my mind paced with thought.
My fingers patiently poised their searching tips above the keys.
One single word was all I needed.
One small collection of letters was all that I craved.
One tiny start to something so amazingly simple.

My eyes darted to my left,
Then veered quickly to my right.
Breathing in deep, I closed my eyes and raised my hands,
Preparing to strike down with the precisioned fury of Frederic Chopin.

With eyes still closed, I lowered my head and pounded down quickly on one single key.
I didn’t care which key it was, for I was sure it would lead the way.
Wouldn’t you know it,
It was the space bar.


2016 04 24 Poetry: Ember April 24, 2016

As a child, I found things much simpler than I did as I grew older. The innocence of a young boy didn’t follow me too long into my teenage years though, as outside influence began to dictate what I was influenced by, and who I became. Now don’t get me wrong, because I was in no way a perfect specimen to begin with, or ever.

I guess we’re all pre-wired to act and react a certain way, which is unique to us, and us alone. Where one person may excel, another might wobble and fall over, completely caught up with inhibitions that others might not begin to be able to understand.

And there I was, staring at my teenage years, but also staring at a young man in the mirror that I didn’t really care for, and increasingly became unfamiliar with. An adolescent goat, caught up in a world of social acceptance that hit me by surprise and from what I could gather, didn’t give me a chance.

Ya I know, a teenage pity party on a dead end street. There were no good excuses for me, as it was of my own construction. I let others dictate what I felt about myself, and boy did that catch up to me.

By the time those teenage years were in full swing, my inhibitions were searching for acceptance from my peers, and one way I could see to gain that acceptance was through the use of drugs. They seemed to help me fit in, and they also helped me to cope with the stares and whispers and nasty comments, for I was an ugly duckling that, from what I could see, stood no chance of turning into a swan. I was in a perpetual state of duck, and duck I did, from every normal form of growth that came along. I ducked and ran to my new friend, drug addiction, and what a friend it was, or so I thought.

Addiction promised me one thing, and delivered something totally different. It handed me a new world, but then it took it all away. Not just the new world, but my old world as well. My friend turned out to be a maniacal, clever, selfish son of a bitch, and when it was all said and done, I stood there, naked, stripped clean, afraid and all alone.

The following poem is reflective of that snapshot of my life. The ups, the downs, the change of heart and the detour of a spirit caught up in a nightmare unlike any other.

This is the 24th day of April, so this makes this poem the, um, let’s see, carry the two, bring down the, ok then, this is the 24th poem of the month.

This is National Poetry Month, and I want to thank you for your support, your inspiration and I hope that this finds you all in the middle of a fine day.

Take care, and God bless.



A Poem by DP Lyons

There once was a boy looking back from a mirror.
His crew cut hair and dirty cheeks captured the entire image.
A more perfect reflection could have never been dreamed.
A freer spirit could have never been born.

Passions formed.
Inspiration found its home.
Agility and ability set themselves in motion.
Guidance became piece of mind as a boy continued to grow.

As teen years went by, inhibitions, doubt and a blurred perception slowly settled in.
The reflected image looking back began speaking in strange tongues.
The young boy grew up, and the boyish smile turned down.
Glaring Stares and haunting taunts weighed heavy on a trusting heart.

The harder he looked, the further he fell away from the mirror.
Reflections became a silent enemy.
Praise from family drifted away along an unsettled wind.
The passions of a boy fell prey to a relentless foe.

Sight of mind devastated the visions of the heart.
Altered voices waged war with a searching soul.
A chosen drug became an unexpected friend.
Savored promises slowly delivered a narrowed path of destruction.

The heart grew quiet.
The spirit drifted away.
The passions of a boy became the neglected memories of a man.
A world fell completely apart.

Darkness settled in.
Pain and anguish became an unwanted tenant.
A hopeful contender became a ravaged, hollowed heart.
Battered, bruised and beaten, the light grew dim, and died.

Along a changing wind, a lone ember flickers with life.
Fueled by unconditional love, a flame begins to grow.
A young boy’s heart begins to mend.
A young man’s soul begins to heal.

An unfamiliar reflection shyly looks back from the mirror,
And begins to smile.


2016 04 23 Poetry: Neon Blue April 23, 2016


Being blind is no picnic. It’s getting a little easier some days, except for those days when it isn’t. I have continued learning how to adapt, except for those days where there’s just too much to take in.

I will forever be grateful for the help, and I will always try to help others when I can, although there are a lot of days when I don’t feel I have anything at all to contribute.

Being blind tends to suck a wicked lot, and the blurred existence of some days is just that, an unimagineable glance at something I can’t even see.

The feeling of embarrassment is very strong some days. As I fumble around, I despise the moment. As I search for things with my cane, I dread the moment. As I stumble and wobble as I maneuver to and fro, I remember a time of adequate agility and beneficial coordination.

Here I am, as blind as a man can be, but with visions that no other man has been given. Here I am, wondering where the light went, and as I move through the darkness, my mind lends me a different way to see.

And here you are, again, on this, the 23rd day of April, and below is my 23rd poem of the month.

No matter how you see, how you feel, how you make it through your day, I hope you find piece of mind and peace of heart.

Best to ya.



Neon Blue
A poem by DP Lyons

I can’t see the morning.
I wonder if it’s really there.
It’s too early to feel the sun on my face.
There must be a fog rolling across the field.

What is, feels like what once was.
Things I hear, sound just out of reach.
The day quickly fills up with memories.
The memories help fill the growing shadows of the day.

I see a shimmering flash of neon blue,
And then absolutely nothing at all.
Hearing a voice, I strain to remember a smile.
I frown and grab my cane as the burden continues to grow.

My thoughts scatter as I remember a dream.
A young boy runs freely across an open field.
He breathes, he feels, he sees.
Alive as he once was, he assures me that he still is.

The heart of the boy continues beating.
The visions of the boy continue guiding.
The dreams of the boy continue to grab hold and pull.
The questions of the boy continue calling out.

I can’t see the morning,
But I know it’s still there.


2016 04 22 Poetry: New Loafers April 22, 2016

When I think back to that September morning, 51 years ago, there’s different things that stick out in my mind. The crisp September morning, the electric feeling rushing up and down through me, the feeling that I was beginning to belong to something so amazing and new, the nervous emotions that were tugging me one way, then the other, it was all just so perfect, and it was my first day of school.

Although I was nervous as a cat in a rocking chair factory, I knew everything would be ok, because I had my brother and sisters going with me, and my best friend Kevin. It really couldn’t get more perfect than that, right?

Do you remember back to that first day of school? Is there something that sticks out to you that has hung on to your memories all through the years?

When I saw that bus coming around the corner, I knew that all that waiting had been worth it, because, this was it.

My first day of school.

Today marks the 22nd of April, and this just happens to be the 22nd poem I have submitted for National Poetry Month.

I thank you for pulling up a chair, and I hope you have a great night.

Take care and be well.



New Loafers
A poem by DP Lyons

I’m waiting for the bus this morning.
This is my first day of kindergarten.
They have really huge crayons there that are flat on one side.
I’m wicked nervous.
It feels like there’s frogs jumping around in my stomach.
My hair is cut wicked short,
My loafers are brand new,
And my new black pants have a crease in them.
This kid standing beside me is Kevin.
He’s my best friend, and he lives right over there.
Today’s his first day of school too.
I’m taller than he is, but he runs a little faster than me.
We play pass with the football out in the field a lot.
That’s my two older sisters and my big brother over there.
Mom said they’ll look out for me today.
I think I’ll be ok, because I’m big now, like them.
I’ve been waiting for this day for a long, long time.
Kevin’s two older brothers are coming with us to school too.
So is our other friend standing over there.
His name is Buddy.
I don’t know why, but we all call him Woody.
Kevin’s hair is really short, just like mine.
I wonder if he went to the same hair cut place as me.
I bet he did.
I wonder if his shoes are new.
His pants have a crease, just like mine do.
I think I see the bus coming up the hill.
Yup, that’s the bus.
It’s gonna pick all of us up.
Boy that bus looks really, really big.
Did I tell you this is my first day of school?



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