Monthly Archives: October 2018

The day is nice, excerpt from Sal Manders by pd lyons (adult themes)

in 1974 I started work on a biographical/fiction. ( originally titled salamanders) incorporating bits of journal, drugs sex and drama from the point of view of a 18 – 20 something male living in an old factory town New England as he discovers drinks weed cocaine love sex marriage divorce fatherhood etc. it began by the river it hasn’t ended yet. here’s another excerpt – for what its worth. still ruff n ready I suppose

The day is nice,

today is a light cool mist over everything after weeks of ninety degrees. The coffee is good and strong. I’m sprawled out on the kitchen table with pen and paraphernalia. When I was first married my wife always made sure where ever we lived there was a room for my desk. It was great; a room, a desk, a typewriter and all my books. But as time went on and she and I got farther apart the desk seemed to get lost along the way as we moved and the place got smaller and smaller my room became less and less of a priority no longer, like myself, a necessity. However I did find a substitute for my desk, a most convenient and logical solution – a place to sprawl out and be close to the coffee pot a place generally as far as possible from sleeping children and angry women and even today when I have no typewriter, no home, no wife, I still have a little quiet and solitude here at this long inspiration of kitchen table.

It’s nice and cool but I would like some sunlight, sunshine like yesterday, the girl dancing and laughing and I rubbed her sore muscles putting her to sleep in the ragged summer grass there by the stream you can still drink from. Maureen, the way your hair shines golden, the way you wore that yellow tied at the waist shirt – I want to buy you a gold medallion of the sun, pretty girl I want to lay you out in ninety degrees of heat and fuck you till we melt. Maureen in the sun quiet, cynical, tired, your legs are strong I thought you were nervous but you fell asleep as I worked the tight muscles of your legs yielding up the cheeks of you ass, a long sleek back up around sore shoulders the white ivory neck kissed between the space of blonde laying in the grass my hands unable to stop…

Then there is Maureen in evening laughter,

Restless martial arts forms against the stars

Stoned as shit on some hashish she bought

To see her now, happy, care free, no self put downs,

Golden lady I like to be here…

Maureen your skin is magic,

The night has been beautiful for us

The moonless stars are animals I want to travel among

While your desire is to keep both feet on firm earth

Dancing in the dark I hate to leave you –

All night my fingers shake in their sleep as if I had ten penises each dreaming of your cunt all at once.


salamanders green/ Part One /page 1

Sal Manders back in the day

Pdlyons's Explorations

in 1974 I started work on a biographical/fiction. incorporating bits of journal, drugs sex and drama from the point of view of a 18 – 20 something male living in an old factory town New England as he discovers drinks weed cocaine love sex marriage divorce fatherhood etc. it began by the river it hasn’t ended yet but here’s the first part – for what its worth, still ruff n ready I suppose

photo by pdlyons photo by pdlyons

Part One: Do you really want to go here?


Afternoon late spring clean water rivering golden sunlight drifts slowly graces full breezy trees, sub down silver gold sparks white water green water brass between rock and crumbling pylons water. Trout water clean fast life death water sparkle moments cascade flash blood scent spotted sating skin shudder pulse lightning trout flesh steel clean pain death dream river of sun of steel of rock pumping…

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Behind, by pd lyons

ah paris! pd lyons photography and poem

Pdlyons's Explorations

DSC_0981 Notre Dame


whenever she goes
she always leaves

through differing doorways
the same absence

DSC_0999 Notre Dame

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1978. Excerpt from Sal Manders by P D Lyons

1974 crosby

  1978    I’m sitting in this crowded theatre, I’m not watching the show, I don’t know what I’m doing here – just waiting for intermission or the end what ever comes first? The place is packed, everyone dressed real fancy, even me! I’m sitting on the audience side right, an aisle end seat with friends who’s faces I cannot see and names I do not remember with occasional flash backs of my mother giving me directions to a beach I don’t want to go to. One of the theatre girls comes over and is bending down over me to say something to someone in our row. I remember looking at her and thinking how handsome she is, not frilly pretty but attractively handsome. As she leaves this other woman comes into the theatre behind me, she’s dressed in black and maroon and wears a black shiny stone pendant. She is young she is attractive she is asking me to introduce her to the theatre girl, says she is her cousin or something. I tell her I don’t really even know that girl and why doesn’t she just introduce herself? She is afraid to, pleads with me until I say “yes – when she comes back this way I will “. I turn back towards the stage but everything is over, guess the end came first, and people are streaming out. There is no trace of the theatre girl but there is a woman kneeling in front of the stage writing something into a clip board. I go down to her; I know she works here, something to do with productions or something like that. I kneel there with her and somehow without words ask her how to find this girl and she answers me with out words. I don’t remember any words being spoke between us but she proceeds to give me all sorts of charts, numbers and diagrams concerning this theatre girl and I get this feeling that they belong to a group of nuns or priestesses and to find this girl one would have to go deep under the ground. We get up and walk to the main doors. I don’t know if she has decided to bring me to this girl or what but I don’t care because I find myself very happy to be walking with this woman. By the time we get to the door I’m sure I know her well and feel known by her and I remember no words and I remember not once did we look each other in the eye. As we left we went out different doors, parallel doors.  Once outside I say to her in distinct words “I like you very much. It’s been years since I met a woman smart enough to do more than put on her make-up.” She just smiles and we walk through the down town and in front of the old Grants department store reflected in the cloudy plate glass she puts out her tongue and I take it into my mouth.

(photographer unknown)

An Email to Lamas

What Now?

Do any of you want to sign this email some of us are sending to as many lamas as we can think of and find email addresses for? It’s going out at the end of the month so they’ll get it before the meeting with HHDL in late November. The aim is to encourage as many lamas as possible to make public statements as to their position on abusive behaviour by lamas and to provide specific material for their discussion on this matter at their meeting. The results will be published here on a special page as something students can use to assist them in evaluating potential teachers.

The email

Dear Rinpoche

We are students of Tibetan Buddhism concerned by revelations in the past year that some lamas have harmed their students (most notably, the abuse of students by Sogyal Rinpoche of Rigpa and Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche of Shambhala). We…

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Dalai Lama Speaks Out About Sogyal Rinpoche

What Now?


Recently, author and journalist Michaela Haas asked the Office of His Holiness the Dalai Lama for a statement about the current situation in Rigpa, in particular the allegations of abuse made by 8 former and current students.

In response, they referred to the following remarks the Dalai Lama gave at the Inauguration of Seminar on ‘Buddhism in Ladakh’ on August 1, 2017.

This is a transcript of his remarks.  There’s a video clip of this part of his address at the end of this post.

It can be helpful to listen to the video in addition to reading the transcript so you can hear the emphasis the Dalai Lama gives certain points.  For example, he’s quite adamant when he says, “That’s totally wrong,” in reference to following a spiritual teacher blindly.

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One poem as published by – Literariedad


By PD Lyons 


like that street
wandered down street
no siesta noon
shadowed woman leans
black iron filigree not quite a balcony
lace the colour of some-place else
drawn as if a breeze
pecan smooth her face

what would the story be?
choose that place you should not go
walnut doors second floor
barefoot invitation
whisper of late grapes
hint of something strong
dull embroidered armchair
unlaced boots
dusted finger prints
smooth as kisses table
folded towels
uncertain colour
enameled basin
clear glass tumblers
lemons sliced in water
sunlight striping something velvet on the bed


Revista dominical que asume la literatura, la poesía, el cine y el teatro como calles, lugares de encuentro y desencuentro. ISSN: 2462-893X.


Revista Latinoamericana de Cultura. Año 5. Desde Bogotá, Colombia. Apuntes de Peatón. ISSN: 2462-893X (En línea)

Jahana Hayes, Former Teacher of the Year, Wins Democratic Nomination for Congress in Connecticut — BCNN1 WP

Jahana Hayes, a Waterbury, CT, history teacher with no political experience, captured the Democratic nomination for Connecticut’s 5th District seat on Tuesday night and is now a step away from becoming the first black Democrat elected to the U.S. House of Representatives from New England.

via Jahana Hayes, Former Teacher of the Year, Wins Democratic Nomination for Congress in Connecticut — BCNN1 WP


As published by Inquietudes Literary Journal Spring 2018

Waltzing the Night

by PD Lyons

We’d hold ourselves like prayers between each other
bare feet, beating hearts
soft by each breath
full moon kisses
beyond any daylight horizon


it was one o’ clock this morning.
woke up no particular reason
didn’t even need to pee.
kitchen floor so cold I hurt for shoes
stood there adjusting to Frigidaire light
three bottles of beer on the second shelf
opened one by the window
chugged a salute to those long
hard rain halos

this is not the city I used to know with you

maybe I go for another
maybe it’ll help me sleep
probably not
these days once I’m up
even beer can’t touch me

deserted even by the small comfort of your ghost
still I sway as if somehow
we’re dancing


links to the full issue #1 and the Journal for submissions of your own work





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