rockledge drive a snippet by pd lyons ~

Nothing kept us in not even really bad weather and hardly dinnertime and not without an argument.

TV was too new. The only a night time thing was Mickey Mouse but Saturdays were mornings of cartoons and Wonderama, Sandy Becker, Little Rascals, Chuck McCann.

 Most days were almost always outside in the street. Kick the can, stickball, kick ball, Wiffle-Ball, handball even football in the street. Hide and seek and playing’ army through back yards and up-the-bank. Getting my first kiss from an army nurse who was wearing a WW2 helmet  borrowed from my best friend who got it from his army captain father and lent it to the girl he liked the best, the one who kissed me instead and I didn’t even know what for.

In those days Saturdays were a real luxury and summer really meant something  – spent fully spreely as if we knew there was an endless supply.

Days like a never dropping pinball all flash & bang buzz & ring -yellow jacket eat a melon no school holler out the screen door slam summers.

Snow up to your face steel runner sleds stand up backwards down the steepest golf course hill.

Autumn crunch warm sweet smell leaves up to our knees dreaming of Halloween the minute school started in September.

I was a cowboy; got six shooters and a Rifleman riffle from my aunt who never knew how much I loved that gun because it broke on the first time out as if I wasn’t careful.

My father hosed the snow fort so it was hard as a stone the next day and we could slide down it as well as sit in it and it didn’t melt  ‘til May.

There was a patch of woods down the street if you walked far enough you’d come to a sand pit where three kids got buried to death once, if you went the other way you’d come to green waters like some soup my mother tried to get us to eat once. But the great thing about the woods was the rock fort, a maze of glacier heaved black rocks left in retreat I guess, we didn’t know. You could squeeze between the crevices, follow the snaky cracks a perfect place to learn how to smoke cigarettes stole from someone else’s parents.

But always the best was the street even football touch football using telephone poles for goal posts of course we couldn’t do field goals and cars would beep and some would be assholes but these were days before we even used such words so we’d just do raspberries, make faces, or act as if we could reach that passing car with a well-placed kick.

your body is not an enemy…

Screenshot 2023-05-27 214319

Now Safe in Snug Harbour, (sometimes in this writing life part 12) by pd lyons


Think there is nothing left because

Things are not they way they were?

I have shouted at the city-blocked midnight

Danced fence post crooked side walked racially slurred neighbourhoods

Found my way past numerous boot strap bras soft slung underwear

Love named and nameless

roof tops-vestibules – pinewood -parked cars – basements – garages – around the corner from some bar

All long railroads of dreams no longer gleaming dull rust misuse


Waiting supplicant for the dew that would soon cover us

 Cold reservoir air upon one another

 Our mouths an open universe.



And days or nights never mattered

Hit by shrapnel amphetamine opiate subduction 

Elegantly by psychedelics led,

What is behind whatever it is that things have become?

Oh these  were meat for you

All this was blessed for words by you

And I needed to know was nothing because all newness was all sacred.


Tears of lovers in the dark

Knowing soon that we would part

No longer see another day

The way we were

 Now so far away


All my instruments pointed

All my solitude true

It was not to other lovers

No mortal could compare

No substance base, mercurial,

will ever compare  with you. 


I could not understand factories of men and bee

Women Buying Guns In America, by pd lyons as published in/by Rolling Thunder Quarterly #11



Smash the fuckin’ TV walk barefoot in the snow

Pierce ourselves with steel

Chew tequila worms ‘til the hand of god wipes our mouths

Piss wherever, say whatever fuck whoever

Fearless with the night of any street of any place

And no Thelma and Louise

We don’t die

Don’t even get caught

We hide

Disguised as geriatric cunts

Happy enough to sleep now

Two ends of the same rope coiling

Richly deserved pools of never never land

Surrender only to each other

 Our Peter Pan tongues.


as published in/by

Rolling Thunder Quarterly: Fall 2013

as published in/by

No Matter How Many Promises Are Broken At Least The Guns Are safe In America by pd lyons

we did not really call you Promise

but we could have

we did completely loose ourselves in the joy

of your deep dark eyes

we did believe that you were a promise to us

as we would be to you

all your bright and wonderful

all your possibility and purpose

we would protect you

we would nourish you

we would teach you

we would dance at your wedding

we did not really call you Promise

but we could have


On My Mother’s Side, poetry by pd lyons

riverside waterbury ct

riverside waterbury ct

On My Mother’s Side

My mother never told me
The one thing I’d ‘a listened to most.
Diagnosed with cancer (7 years before it killed her.)
Deciding to keep it to herself,
She did exactly what it wanted –
Believing it was for her children’s benefit, how would she refuse?

Besides my mother came from a family of secrets
Dark Sicilian secrets emanated from
Every Sunday dinner table that ever was
Ebb   Flow   Echo   Repeat
Dance through generations none of us immune

~ free from all the ancient stories we
could have held the woman who gave us birth
cried any tears together
faced fear until it became compassion
looked into her eyes knowing it was goodbye
and that there would never be another word between us ~


“On My Mother’s Side” by PD Lyons read by Author
From “Caribu and Sister Stones” published by Belfast Lapwing 2009
ISBN 978-1-905425-90-7

Sometimes in This Writing Life – you get lucky


So back in the day Books Ireland had a New Writing section.  “A showcase for un-published writing, edited by Kevin Kiely..” On several occasions Kevin selected some writings from an American blow-in, aka myself. Thanks again!



How Like Dreams Now the Days Too Fade, by pd Lyons. Re: Ethel Pollard Lyons Thanks to Donna J Snyder for telling me

Last night I had a dream about you. Nothing major. We just met face to face. You were telling me about my grandmother. We were outside in the sand. I was surprised you knew her. I  never knew she went to Mexico. It was hot. We sat down at a rough grey whiskery  table.

Yes, you said and she rode very well.  A bright grey horse among the caballeros. “And tequila ?” I leaned towards you tete-a-tete  ” What about  the tequila…?” But the scraping sound of speeding traffic brought me into this morning. And I wondered Why Mexico?


I was always a bit afraid of Mexico –

Suddenly Last Summer, We don’t need no stinking badges, Maryse Holder Give Sorrow words, Comancheros, Decapitations decorating the highways…


But when I was a kid –

Zorro. Bands of silver trumpeters. Hat dancing. Cielito Lindo. Raw silver jewellery, grumpy looking straw cowboys, hand bags made of alligator. Souvenirs sent to my mother from her favorite uncle,  United States Army Air Forces navigator.


And why you? I had called you Jan. You had written to me about my own work. I had admired yours, especially the Creation Myths, Hoped someday you’d do an audio version. How like dreams now, the days too fade.


Re: Ethel Pollard Lyons Thanks to Donna J Snyder for telling me


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sometimes in this writing life w/ pd lyons and Orbis Journal

~ So it’s always a joy when an editor (s) selects your work to be published. I’m happy as if this were 2023 but its from back in 2008 from Orbis Quarterly International Literary Journal, Still so very grateful to Carole Baldock. Thanks for supporting my work! Maiden Lane (from ny NYC days,) and From the House of Starlings (from my River Glenn Connecticut Days.) Thank you for reading! ~

Thank you for reading! Good luck bye ~

Morning Coffee Notes 8.5.23. w/ PD Lyons

on today’s tray : notebook, sunglasses, reflection, and coffee.

What day is this? This morning sun streams into the bed room. To the point of settling back into bed with coffee, glad I brought sun glasses. Went to turn the phone on, saw my reflection. Cool I’ll get a picture but the phone had died, no charge. So narcissus like I stare bright suns in my two black eyes smiling.

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