Monthly Archives: July 2013

Poet As Noun, by pd lyons

Poet as Noun

he did not know what else to do

so he wrote

he did not think of it

he did not believe it to be divine

he was afraid of everything else

so he did this one thing

not that he didn’t do other things

but they were all varying responses to fear

attempts to over come


hide from

himself and others

like the first one to do acid

like the first one to not cut his hair

like the first one to get married have a kid get divorced

get arrested go to jail

leave town leave the country

all the while knowing the falseness of bravado

he did not know what else to do

so he wrote

no matter how high

how angry

how lonely enough to believe that god did in fact exist and abandoned him

no matter how much sex

how many lovers

how many miles

how many broken torn up hearts including his own

he did this one thing

and because of this he never needed anyone to tell him who was

yeah they could tell him what he was


mother fucker heartless bastard

just a kid

a kid in love

a bleeding heart

ignorant liberal

beautiful lover

hackney painter

failed husband

a traveller of foreign lands

a lover a husband a loving husband a loving father

an outlaw of love a dealer of drugs a rider of fast horses across broken unknown terrain

selfish, grifter,

all these were changeable all these mere adjectives

temporary partial descriptions,

the noun he had always been

because he did this one thing

and then one day he stopped

fashion victim

fashion victim

Henry James in Rome

Henry James in Rome.


every moment is guru.

yes. you are a moment.



with alessandra by pd lyons


With Alessandra



time travels softly


across the river


sun pours


volcanoes of night reverse


suck away the day


along this land of green dreams


hungry for another sleepless night


with Alessandra

the Nile whispers Aswan






a practitioner shouldn’t show off except at the time of death, when best is to laugh, next best it to be unafraid and third best is to have no regrets –

Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche, Blazing Splendor.









where now milk thistles still grow

i found them here first at 12 years old

each step a place where once i knew

now changed and no one to tell it to.









snapshots of posthumous john keats in rome

snapshots of posthumous john keats in rome.


The thing is, the Buddha didn’t go –

He stayed

mid summer moon 2 & 3

with wings

with wings




I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
  Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
   Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
   With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
   There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
  Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight



Issue 2 Coming Soon!


About Us


As/Us is a space to showcase the creative literary expressions and scholarly work of both emerging and established women writers from around the world. We are interested in publishing works by underrepresented writers particularly Indigenous women and women of color.


We are open to works that span a variety of topics – work that challenges conventions and aesthetics either on a narrative or formal level, work with purpose, vision, and something at stake. Send us work that you think deserves a space in the world!


Issue 2 Coming Soon!.



%d bloggers like this: