Surviving

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

2017 05 29 Poetry: Memorial Day May 29, 2017

It is very evident to me that I will never be able to describe the moments that Memorial Day brings. On this day, this Memorial Day 2017, I have only a poem that I’d like to share with you.
Happy Memorial Day to you all, and God bless.
Deon

Memorial Day

Memories flow through the lines of heavy pounding hearts
Wondering, wishing, wading for the sun to move through the day
Pictures of yesterday’s voices gather along the shelves
Faces of a May morning raise their heads, searching through the past

Lonely, sweet tones recollect the colors of the departed
Reflections of loving smiles cling tightly to yesterday’s song
Rows of medals, pinned with pride, dance about in the morning light
With gathered steps of spring, the parades take shape

Waving flags beside the children’s smiles help to carry the message home
Brilliant gaze from olden eyes reminds us how things have come to be
Sharp, precision steps, march side by side with a country’s pride
A single, lone trumpeter’s call bids the past a proud farewell

Beckoning words caress the crowd with chaptered verse, bound and true
Petals of red and lilies white paint the fields of carved stone
Circling whispers of love ease down upon the morn
Memorial Day, Oh Memorial Day, we shall always remember you

 

2017 05 27: Poetry, Sweep May 27, 2017

Learning how to use the long, white cane was one of the toughest tasks I have ever taken on. The more I learned, the deeper the reality dug in. I am fortunate to have had such a great instructor, and as the lessons continue to come at me through the course of the days, I realize that she was preparing me for the rest of my life.

This poem touches on some of those emotions, those anxious moments, those stepping stones that helped me reach this day, today.,

I’ll be back tomorrow for another journal excerpt, but for now, well, here’s hoping you have a great night.

Deon

***

Sweep
Written 09 29 2012

I grab my cane and sweep along, not sure of where to go
Shadowed lights and dull grayed scenes dot the void along my way
I listen for a clue, a hint, a reminder of where I would like to be
Stray reminders of yesterday’s innuendoes echo through my cluttered memory

Sweeping aside a dark, never ending world, tomorrow comes again
Tap aside the daggered edges of yesterday’s haunting whispers
Spirits lift me up and out of the chains of a coal black, midnight noon
A chorus of invisible lullabies keeps my dreams just out of reach

A question of mind, a hopeful stare, a passing plea for patience
Unseen ripples reflect from a stone cast from an unfamiliar shore
Friendly voices from hidden smiles lend a hand with welcomed comfort
Uneasy feelings tug at emotions that were never felt before

A heart pounds from deep within a core of fiery red
Passion for life bravely beats back the barrage of darkened foe
The staff, the motion, the sweeping steps, the screaming spirit within
Glowing through midnight’s plight, embers of my mourning lead me home

 

2017 05 17 Essay, Poetry: Old Habits May 17, 2017

Hey there.

I just finished another semester at college last Friday, and as the dust settled down, a thought occurred to me. As much as it feels like I just finished something, there’s something else that’s just about to start. It’s as if I needed to finish one thing, so I could get started on another. Ain’t life funny like that sometimes?

I guess it’s all about the task at hand, like life is one “thing” after another. Don’t you dare loosen your grip, because there’s another one coming around the corner with your name written all over it. No time for self adulations or being able to take a break. Nope. None of that, well, that is if you’re not one to grab a seat and take it easy for the rest of your life.

Granted I don’t take on things like I used to, but on the same note, it seems that things didn’t slow down much when it comes to me. I guess my memo didn’t get out on time or something.

I think we are who we are because of what we do. Perhaps you can spin that around to look at it as though what we do is because of who we are? Maybe it’s a little of both?

The way I do things totally changed these past few years. My abilities changed, my perceptions changed, my reactions to certain things, how I move through my day, how I interact with folks, it’s so different today, and to think that with each day I see, feel and react to new things, or are they really new?

A year ago I lost the rest of my sight, and the changing happened all over again, or did it just continue? The light from the window, the shine of the chrome, the sun in the sky, the contrast of white on black, it all came to a screeching halt, and as I changed again, the way I think about things, realize things, perceive things, absorb things and search for things changed, again. I don’t see my vision changing any more. I don’t see myself trying to find the light, the shine, the morning haze, the evening stars, the full moon, because even though they’re still there, and I can see them in my mind, I’ll never actually see them again.

It’s funny though how I catch myself turning to try and see something going on around me, still. Standing in the bathroom a few days ago, I heard a strange bird call outside. I leaned over to the window and looked at the spruce tree outside, or where I thought the spruce tree should be. I didn’t realize I couldn’t see it until I had looked out through the window and up at the tree. As soon as I realized what I had done, I smiled, chuckled, shook my head and turned away from the window. For those few moments, the picture in my mind turned itself into reality, and boy did it feel good, if only for a moment.

I do these same sorts of things a lot while I do up the dishes in the kitchen. When I am wiping them dry, I turn to put the dish away in the cupboards, and sometimes I reach out to grab the cupboard door handle, and I can see it. I reach out for it, and there it is, exactly where I reach, exactly where it should be. Man oh man how the mind can help to fill in the blanks.

Old habits have a hard time dying sometimes, or is it that I’m still trying to live?

The ability of the mind to see is a habit that I hope will never die.
So far, so good.

The following poem was written a few years ago, but it seems to fit in with this essay. I guess I’m continuing with the theme of April. An essay, a poem, a mark in time.

Thanks for stopping by, and have a great day.

dp

***

Mindful Sight

Darkness to the left and to the right
The vision, unseen, lies just ahead
Trudging on through muddled footsteps of the mind
The glimpse of light stolen from sight

With staff in hand the journey begins
Step lightly over unseen paths
The mind wraps around it all
Announcing the unseen visions

Walk through the fear and anxious days
With eyes not seeing, the stories still unfold
The pages turn one by one
And endless chapter of a new journey begins

Helpful hints arise amidst the countless curves
The paths walked before call out with familiar phrase
Twisting there and here against the grain
Rolling on towards sunlight’s invisible touch

With memories of sighted mind
I reach for the light within
Cascading down through the limbs of life
Refreshing the heart, mind and soul

Falling forward, life tumbles on
Unknown roads and unseen faces
Call out a familiar name
Reaching out a familiar hand

Oh humbled soul, take the steps
Walk the mile of frozen fear
The book is open and lesson learned
True visions lie from deep within the pages

Sighted past, forget me not
Remind me of the colors I still see
Explain what I’ve been able to feel
Build shape from the things that I touch
Give voice to the faces dancing in my mind

 

2017 05 15 Poetry: Bitter Grin May 15, 2017

Hey.

Addiction comes in many different forms, but they are all very similar. The capture of the spirit and soul leaves the addicted with a feeling of helpless, hopeless destruction that can happen slowly, or quickly. Deception is the key, as false promises tend to fool even the strongest of hearts.

I have suffered through periods in my life where my addictions controlled how I acted, reacted, believed, and with a simple alluring stare, the addictions convinced me that I couldn’t live without their influence.

Through the help of loved ones, the halls and my God, I have been able to keep away from the spiraling decent that darkened so many of my days, but in reality, I only have today, and my oh my how many of the todays can seem to last forever.

The following poem was written with respect to addiction. It’s a rather dark poem, but it’s also a reality check, from my own perspective anyway.

Thanks for dropping by, and please remember that no matter where you go, there you are, so try and make a good day out of it.

dp

***

Bitter Grin

Beasts of desire approach a vacant soul
Scattered notions of sympathy lend nothing for a fevered lust
Broken fingers reach for the hand of a deceitful friend
Agonizing hope beside a bitter grin become common place

Soldiers of sorrow hungrily loom over their pleading prey
Character of doubt accepts the tainted promises from a darkened enemy
Merciless pawns of destruction revel amidst a weakened foe
Spiralling depths completely consume an altered stare

Weapons of suicide are thrust into a hollow victim
Shattered dreams are paired with unforgiving reality
Innocence of the addicted wanders through the haunted night
One single choice is disguised as a thousand possibilities

 

2017 05 14: Mother’s Day Poem May 14, 2017

Filed under: Childhood,Devotion,Faith,Family,Humility,Life,Love,Perception,Poem,Poetry,Writing — DP Lyons @ 12:32 pm

This poem is dedicated to my mom, Carol Jean Lyons, and to all the moms out there.
I hope your day is filled with wicked awesome mom stuff. grin

I love ya mom.
dp

***

Mother

Mother, oh mother, hear my pleading call
Shivering child from years ago stands before you
Grant me access to your warming heart
Calm my scattered spirit with your magical potion

I remember your words as I craved your touch
I remember your gentle kiss on my forehead
I remember wrapping my arms around you
I remember

Please sing me that same, soothing lullaby
Please rock me in your arms until I fall fast asleep
Please tell me everything will be alright
Please

Walk beside me as we brave the world
Walk beside me as I dare to dream
Walk beside me as your older boy discovers the unknown
Walk beside me

Promise me a handful of possibilities
Promise me of the love that awaits me
Promise me a family of my own
Promis me

Rescue me from a dastardly foe
Rescue me from an unrelenting obstacle course
Rescue me and whisperyour calming tone
Rescue me

Sing to me your praise as you stare into my eyes
Sing to me of the opportunity each day provides
Sing to me your anthem of faith, love and hope
Sing to me

Share your secrets with me
Guide me towards tomorrow
Pray for me as I do for you
Watch over me with confidence

Soothe my skipping heartbeat with your healing touch
Calm my worried gaze with your gentle touch
Release my anxious breath with a mother’s touch
Mother, Oh Mother

 

2017 05 08 Essay, Poem: Timepiece May 8, 2017

Hey everyone.

Something that I should have done right after finishing high school is to go to college. I didn’t go to college. Fact is, I dropped out of high school during my senior year. Yup. Fraid so.

I had a few distractions going on in my life back then. Man, was that back then. Damn near forty years ago. Anyway, I did manage to go to night school in my mid twenties, and after a little studying, coupled with a little testing, I was presented with my diploma. Holding that certificate in my hands was a weird feeling. It was as if I had finally caught up to where I was supposed to be.

Thirty something or so years later, I stepped onto the campus at KVCC. A much older man was I, and the visions I had were made up of unfamiliar and unexpected exhilaration.

I was met head on with so many variables that once again, it felt like I was trying to catch up. The powerful surges of electricity soon did catch up to me , and as the tides of excitement and inspiration rose in through the narrows, I realized that it was being harnessed and distributed from a group of four people who spent much of their day generating the source of motivation and inspiration, but they also had a very unique talent that enabled them to gather, enrich and redistribute that energy out into the student body that they represented, that they represent, that they will always strive to be a part of.

This post is dedicated to the cornerstone of my experience at KVCC. They are four of the most devoted individuals I have ever had the chance to work with, to look up to, to gain higher ground with. They are TRiO, and words will never be able to express my gratitude for how they have helped me, and how they have helped those who have walked towards them.

Lisa Black, Portland Wright, Michelle Gaines and Nick Runco. You are the four markers that represent a true path to achievement. I thank you all with as much humility and grace as I can.

Nicholas? You are my commander of text, my mentor of adventure, my guardian angel of digital motivation. Thank you sir, and thank you ladies for a source of inspiration that has reached out to so many.

The following poem is dedicated to you all, and in particular, Lisa Black. I haven’t had the chance to work with you, but from what I have heard from some of the other students, you, my dear, are a gift to those who cross your path.

The following poem is my attempt to describe what I have seen, heard, felt and experienced these past 2 years as a member of the TRiO program at KVCC.

Hats off to you four, and congratulations to those who will wear the caps and gowns this spring. It’s been an honor to walk the halls with you, and as I wish you all the very best, somehow, it’s fairly evident to me that this next chapter in your lives will bring you the experiences that dreams are made of.

Can you hear that? It’s a very reliable timepiece ticking away. It represents all of you, continuing to make your mark, continuing to create your future, one tick at a time.

Hats off to you all, and I gratefully accept your inspiration.

Deon

Timepiece

The semester is over
The classrooms are bare
Familiar sound drifts down the hall
A phone is heard ringing
At the North end of King
Someone quickly answers the call

Preparations have started
Plans have begun
New students are shown where to turn
Timid eyes gaze
At a welcoming smile
Inquisitive minds start to learn

With wide open eyes, a student begins
Affirmations of body and mind
KVCC TRiO quietly make their mark
A union like no other kind

A team stands waiting
A vision is cast
The students’ dreams are revealed
One by one
The yearning takes shape
A plan of success becomes sealed

New bonds are built
Friendships are born
Foundations are laid brick by brick
Weeks turn to months
Caps and gowns march by
As the timepiece continues to tick

Inspiration is born from where it began.
The tutor, the mentor, the friend
TRiO is formed from a vision of heart
A passion that time cannot bend

Dedicated to the incredible KVCC TRiO staff
Without your guidance, help and support, where would we be?

dp
Spring 2017

 

2017 04 30 Poetry: Soldier April 30, 2017

As the last day of the month casts its lengthening shadow across the scripted page, I am reminded that there are some things that I will never overlook.

Sitting here wondering what to write about, an image spun around inside my head of a man standing in front of a huge rolling machine. The image was of my nephew, 1st Sergeant Michael Lyons, 20 year retired US Marine. The picture was of him standing in front of a massive behemoth of a armored vehicle, which I think is called a Buffalo. There he stood on a road, in the desert, weighed down with body armor, full combat gear, and an M4 gun. As I gazed at the picture my older brother had sent, a rush of emotion ran up and down through me like a convoy on their way to Kuwait. I had never seen this nephew, this man, this soldier as he appeared in the image. His eyes were fixed, his look was determined, and one of his uncles wept a tear of honor and pride for the man, for the soldier, for the praise that I would never adequately find words for.

I am growing older by the day, this is for sure. The older I become, the more I realize how important our bravest men and women are, and how unselfish their sacrifice is, so that we might explore the possibilities afforded to us, by them.

I could go on and on with creative description with this post, but to what end? It would take me the rest of my life to find enough words to applaud their honor, make note of their bravery and admire their force of strength and might.

I had the chance to interview 1st Sergeant Lyons a few weeks ago for an assignment at school, and I was actually nervous, mostly because I wanted to ask him so many things, but had to narrow the questions down to what I thought was most relevant of a hero of mine. And oh what a hero of mine he is.

This is the last day of National Poetry Month, and as I reflect back on the past few weeks, I am very thankful that my path has crossed with you all, for it is a talented path that has joined me.

To the poets of the world, continue to make your music sing loud, for it is now, and will always be the music of a spirited soul.

Take care, and have a great month of May.

Deon

***

Soldier

Snapshot of a soldier, miles from home,
A mission on his mind.
Full heart beating in the desert sun,
Bravery of a special kind.

Stars and stripes sewn to his chest,
Worn with strength and pride.
Unfamiliar roads, a warrior’s quest,
His family by his side.

With freedom ringing in his ears,
He stares with hardened eyes.
Poised to take on any foe,
And protect the child that cries.

A snapshot of a man stared back at me.
I felt his beating heart.
I saw the strength within his eyes.
A strength that would never part.

The few, the proud, the man, the Marine,
The picture tells the tale.
Come home safely, brave soldier of ours,
Your honor shall prevail.

Dedicated to my nephew, United States Marine, 1st Sergeant Michael Lyons,
And all the brave men and women of the United States Armed Forces.
God bless you all.