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Debbie Lydon Dec 2022
I think it's about time that I learned to put a bit of goodbye into every joy,
every sorrow, every moment I am lucky enough to live through.
It's just in case, when the time comes, I don't have time for the big farewell,
And if I do turn out to be lucky enough to have time to say adios and grazie mille to all my ineffable life,
then all the bits of goodbye can come together and collide with my adios and grazie mille,
and how sacred and beautiful that would be!
But if not, I can live in peace, knowing I'm ready,
and knowing that my life has already heard a bit of goodbye in each of my moments,
uttered in gratitude and so much love,
from me.
Debbie Lydon Oct 2022
Well, did you know that your eyes are mighty beacons?
Great flickering flames of an artist's soul?
Did you know that when I saw you first I felt you, wildly?
Felt a gentle steward of poems among us, a river voice renews.

One utterance from you has me above my tiny tempests,
I've been pleading, even prayed (though out of practice) for more words,
But your words, only your voice! Which has me falling into tension,
And godsent, glorious tension ensues from your stark frequencies.

Rejoice, I do now rejoice and it feels like for the first time,
Surely not? And you can't know but I just cried for our distant meeting,
It is as though a veil is lifted, a dam destroyed, a collapsed ceiling?
But now a fear, such a quiet terror that I may not hear you again.
Debbie Lydon Oct 2022
It is a long walk in the pointed dark,
And a short stay in the spherical light,
A wheel of Ixion, an electric looped spark,
We are a round hallelujah in the middle of the night.

There is a transient fortress clicking on,
And a lightning of learning is following me,
The Owls and their penetrating, prescient song,
Say tomorrow is no burden, and she will be free.

I am seeing him presently and I will see him again,
Though not prepared for first goodbye and hello of tomorrow,
Sad and smiling Ixion, you and I are we and them,
Lonely, tired, hurt and afraid, I'll love you again in spinning sorrow.
I met you, and you and I know each other well
Debbie Lydon Aug 2022
Desperate, so agonisingly glutted with yearning,
Yearning to hear my voice and to know that it resounds,
So roundly that I am all at once myself, And so much myself that I remember my eyes,
My eyes that have long been forgotten in cruel glass.
Cruel, cruel glass! I have long been abandoned, and long been a veil,
But such a thin veil that always would wane,
It's falling slowly now, like a prophecy fulfilled,
Get ready to see, get ready to be seen.
The beauty beneath all our very thin veils
Debbie Lydon Jun 2022
Living on with a smile,
Transmuting in unknowing,
Swimsuit ready for more suffering,
What a chance! What a circus!
At an end, I say thanks.

I, who have blinked,
And glad to have felt
bed sheets and petals and melancholy moods,
And my god! The blossom and the sadness of falling,
Wretched cold,
Pain of poverty
And power too.
What a life! What a moment!
To it all, I say thank you.

And birds, many times my soul knew you,
And dirt, on my hands grounding my mind,
Dear trees, in my solitude you were always so kind,
What a world! What a time!
I'd live again, rewind.
Debbie Lydon Jun 2022
Good god, great grief!
Reflecting, absorbing, colourful grief,
I can see nothing but through your absolutes,
Look there to that leaf, so soon to be gone,
It is all our death, and beautiful, powerful, terrifying grief.
Much more beautiful this way
Debbie Lydon May 2022
He became infant prescience,
He had to go so far ahead of me,
A strange and whispering comfort that brings,
One who was one with me in our growing,
Knew (or still knows) the bird that never sings.

Many times I had wondered, when in my loneliness,
If it could be that he still exists somewhere,
Only a question without perpendicular relief,
But perhaps it is possible that he still laughs,
Because he still resides in my question and belief.

I feel my closing drawing closer,
I feel it will be soon that I could meet him in my dreams,
So separate for so long, and our reunion means ceasing,
Our hearts once played their percussion together, and when mine stops we can meet in new grieving.
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