Monthly Archives: May 2022

Fallen Lilies, by PD Lyons Poetry


Fallen Lilies


We will surround you with silence

Like the voices of our children never to be heard again

We will surround you with fallen lilies

Like each of one our children cut mid bloom


We won’t ever know what to do

With a hypocrite’s thoughts and prayers


We won’t ever find anything

In a hypocrite’s concern for  grief


But we’ll not match the hardness of such hearts

By hardening our own


We will not meet such hearts with violence

We know too well that path of sorrow


So, we will meet you in silence

Like the voices of our children never to be heard again

We will meet you in fallen lilies

Like each one of our children cut mid bloom


Unlike you

We will do what must be done

Unlike you

We will remember and continue to find days to be thankful for


Mothers rocking babies rocking mothers

Fathers rocking babies rocking fathers

Altar of the Virgin of Guadalupe in Notre – Dame

My Thoughts on Silence in the Age of Noise br Erling Kagge

Silence in the Age of Noise by Erling Kagge.

I bought this book a few years back and hadn’t read it. Until rediscovered while packing ( endless fucking packing). What a wonderful read. A book of unpretentious elegance, intelligence perfectly measured medicinal.

Cesur – pauses between the notes. Oh my Beethoven! I never knew there was a word for it! And like Kagge it is one of my favorite places. The space between the notes ah cesur.

There is a love no one remembers – Jon Fosse

For me as a poet it is my “job” to bring things back from the quiet. And then the paradox of it is to try and use the clumsy allusion of words to entice others to explore their own quiet of their human nature.

Do yourself a favor and let Erling’s silence sooth inspire and find you.

A joyful celebration (NPR) that shows us why silence is essential to our sanity and happiness–and how it can open doors to wonder and gratitude–from a renowned explorer and acclaimed author. … Google Books

Originally published: 2016

poets we know and live with ~ ROWING & THE AUTHOR OF THE JESUS PAPERS SPEAKS by Anne Sexton

A story, a story!
(Let it go. Let it come.)
I was stamped out like a Plymouth fender
into this world.
First came the crib
with its glacial bars.
Then dolls
and the devotion to their plastic mouths.
Then there was school,
the little straight rows of chairs,
blotting my name over and over,
but undersea all the time,
a stranger whose elbows wouldn’t work.
Then there was life
with its cruel houses
and people who seldom touched-
though touch is all-
but I grew,
like a pig in a trench-coat I grew,
and then there were many strange apparitions,
the nagging rain, the sun turning into poison
and all of that, saws working through my heart,
but I grew, I grew,
and God was there like an island I had not rowed to,
still ignorant of Him, my arms, and my legs worked,
and I grew, I grew,
I wore rubies and bought tomatoes
and now, in my middle age,
about nineteen in the head I’d say,
I am rowing, I am rowing
though the oarlocks stick and are rusty
and the sea blinks and rolls
like a worried eyeball,
but I am rowing, I am rowing,
though the wind pushes me back
and I know that that island will not be perfect,
it will have the flaws of life,
the absurdities of the dinner table,
but there will be a door
and I will open it
and I will get rid of the rat insdie me,
the gnawing pestilential rat.
God will take it with his two hands
and embrace it.As the African says:
This is my tale which I have told,
if it be sweet, if it be not sweet,
take somewhere else and let some return to me.
This story ends with me still rowing.

– from The Awful Rowing Towards God 1975
( Her eighth collection of poetry is entitled The Awful Rowing Toward God.The title came from her meeting with a Roman Catholic priest who, unwilling to administer last rites, told her “God is in your typewriter.” This gave the poet the desire and willpower to continue living and writing. The Awful Rowing Toward God and The Death Notebooks are among her final works, and both center on the theme of dying

Anne Sexton

Within 12 years of writing her first sonnet, she was among the honored poets in the U.S.: a Pulitzer Prize winner, a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and the first female member of the Harvard chapter of Phi Beta Kappa.[10][11]

On October 4, 1974, Sexton had lunch with Kumin to revise galleys for Sexton’s manuscript of The Awful Rowing Toward God, scheduled for publication in March 1975 (Middlebrook 396). On returning home she put on her mother’s old fur coat, removed all her rings, poured herself a glass of vodka, locked herself in her garage, and started the engine of her car, ending her life by carbon monoxide poisoning.[12]

In an interview over a year before her death, she explained she had written the first drafts of The Awful Rowing Toward God in 20 days with “two days out for despair and three days out in a mental hospital.” She went on to say that she would not allow the poems to be published before her death. She is buried at Forest Hills Cemetery & Crematory in Jamaica Plain, Boston, Massachusetts.

Sexton is seen as the modern model of the confessional poet. Maxine Kumin described Sexton’s work: “She wrote openly about menstruation, abortion, masturbation, incest, adultery, and drug addiction at a time when the proprieties embraced none of these as proper topics for poetry.”[13]


In my dream
I milked a cow,
the terrible udder
like a great rubber lily
sweated in my fingers
and as I yanked,
waiting for the moon juice,
waiting for the white mother,
blood spurted from it
and covered me with shame.
Then God spoke to me and said:
People say only good things about Christmas.
If they want to say something bad,
they whisper.
So I went to the well and drew a baby
out of the hollow water.
Then God spoke to me and said:
Here. Take this gingerbread lady
and put her in your oven.
When the cow gives blood
and the Christ is born
we must all eat sacrifices.
We must all eat beautiful women.

Anne Sexton  from The Book of Folly 1972

the girls i knew in high school were all enamored with Sylvia. and i must admit i was some what smitten. but there was this teacher of English. she did not debate but rather exposed the rare woman genius the all too common crucifixion the dark stronger than the bright, the strength to take control in a time in a place where all is only waiting around food feeding on food attracted like horseflies to tenderness. the time was she said now and so the time was and so she said it was therefore it would be now and never any other time but. – pd lyons

all photos C. pd lyons photography.

Dublin Girl, by pd lyons

Dublin Girl

in a doorway
pale hands search
the rain for softness

who has never touched the world
with little fingers,
who has never longed to never leave,

she is always there somewhere

The sea
The gulls
The Liffey
And the ship in the window on Berkeley road


Bagdad Dove

there is a Dublin of which i am in love with. it is a culmination of miles of wanderings and the songs and poetry my father brought to my life. Even before I ever got there it had taken root in my heart.  – She is always there somewhere.

The enemy you love song by pd lyons

I really want to be with you

be with you

be with you

I really want to be with you when we’re OK


But on these other days

other days

other days & nights

But on these others times

I just don’t know what to say


I’m just the enemy



I’m just the enemy

the enemy you love

Like My Breath by pd lyons

we lean elbows on the table

they take my face in-between their hands

all endless eyes intense

not even needing to be kissed

swoon like



only by their hands saved

my elbows long since




and so it goes… by pd lyons (re edited and re dedicated to the supreme court of merika)

In My Country

Women walk on eggshells

The way they dress is a rapist’s defence strategy

Their silence confers consent

Their bodies always up for grabs

In every way

There is no privacy especially of the womb

They may be legally and religiously sacrificed on the altar of boys-will-be-boys

They may be murdered at will

But have dubious right to self defence

They are not heard

They are not believed

They are not counted

Their labour not valued

That they are

Our mothers

Our sisters

Our daughters

Our beloved

May be conveniently ignored by law now


They are property

of the god

of the party

the state



re edited and re dedicated to the supreme court of merika 5.5.22 pd lyons

easily cherished by pd lyons


an armature chess crossin

fine tattooed ass

indigo satin

fine breathless

golden brown caffeinate

unable to lullaby



rosebud plum tippin

clearly dew dippin


true unanswerable laughter

easily cherished


and so easily



and so it goes… by pd lyons

 when i was a kid

lots of folks wanted peace & love

there was songs speeches weed & making love

on universities and in the streets

there was protesting war

The national guard was sent in

to shoot some of the kids to death

So much for love & peace.


these days they made it so everyone

not just the national guard

can get military weapons

just in case anybody else wants to start

talking too much about peace & love again.


hey kids

peace & love

are silly things

get yourself one of these instead

free 50 round magazine 

The Kent State shootings, also known as the May 4 massacre and the Kent State massacre,[3][4][5] were the killings of four and wounding of nine other unarmed Kent State University students by the Ohio National Guard on May 4, 1970 in Kent, Ohio, 40 mi (64 km) south of Cleveland

To those who think murder is too strong a word, one may recall that even [Vice President Spiro] Agnew three days after the Kent State shootings used the word in an interview on the David Frost show in Los Angeles. Agnew admitted in response to a question that what happened at Kent State was murder, “but not first degree” since there was – as Agnew explained from his own training as a lawyer – “no premeditation but simply an over-response in the heat of anger that results in a killing; it’s a murder. It’s not premeditated and it certainly can’t be condoned.”



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