Monthly Archives: October 2022

Halloween, For all who’ve gone before we celebrate your passing and our own waiting.

Killer – ain’t never been no king


rock n roll
kick ass not fade away

they were so afraid of you
they blamed it all on Elvis

rock n roll
kick ass not fade away

somewhere there’s the killer
ain’t never been no fuckin’ king

soft girls
hard liquor
get ‘em movin’
get ‘em dancin’

wherever you are
somewhere in that pure American night
hope you’re bangin’ a piano
hope you’re ready for a fight

( for jerry lee – who else?)

Mel-Ramos-Lucky-Lulu-Blonde (copy)

Jerry Lee Lewis (born September 29, 1935) is an American rock and roll and country music singer-songwriter and pianist. He is known by the nickname “The Killer” and is often viewed as “rock & roll’s first great wild man” – re: wikipedia





i love rock n roll

today, ruff by pd lyons

not deaf

but rather

does not listen.

not choice

but rather


not ignorance

but rather grateful

for distraction.

freed from the sound then

everything crying.


Acid Love by PD Lyons




Acid Love (for East Mountain)
Faces melt
Stream away
There is no ground
Once where midnight was the ocean
Scattered stars the shore
Pearls of street lights held by cosmic hands
Lit up our wide black mirror eyes
We knew then in our own single breath way
All was liquid
And with our hands on one another’s heart
Knew we knew each other before the time of
Light & dark.
27.10.22. Pd Lyons 

Blonde In The Bleachers by Joni Mitchell from For The Roses

just joey and buddha

just joey and buddha

Blonde In The Bleachers
by Joni Mitchell

The blonde in the bleachers
She flips her hair for you
Above the loudspeakers
You start to fall
She follows you home
But you miss living alone
You can still hear sweet mysteries
Calling you
The bands and the roadies
Lovin’ ’em and leavin’ ’em
It’s pleasure to try ’em
It’s trouble to keep ’em

‘Cause it seems like you’ve gotta give up
Such a piece of your soul
When you give up the chase

Feeling it hot and cold
You’re in rock ‘n’ roll
It’s the nature of the race
It’s the unknown child
So sweet and wild
It’s youth
It’s too good to waste

She tapes her regrets
To the microphone stand
She says “You can’t hold the hand
Of a rock ‘n’ roll man
Very long
Or count on your plans
With a rock ‘n’ roll man
Very long
Compete with the fans
For your rock ‘n’ roll man
For very long
The girls and the bands
And the rock ‘n’ roll man”
© Joni Mitchell


i love rock n roll

i love rock n roll*

*unknown photographer

Urge for Going, poetry by Joni Mitchell song versions by by Tom Rush, Joni & Mary Black

=I know this is from the beautiful poet Joni Mitchell but the song version i first heard was by Tom. I’ll include a version by her and one by Mary Black , another of my favorites. but first I Invite you
 to read the poetry before you listen  to the songs. today the sky is steel grey and the winter has found it’s way back into Spring time. Snow and the outside air hurts my fingers…
So give it a read and a listen yeah? Tell me he don’t make that guitar skate like  sharp blades upon a black ice lake….
I awoke today and found the frost perched on the town
It hovered in a frozen sky, then it gobbled summer down
When the sun turns traitor cold
And all trees are shivering in a naked row
I get the urge for going but I never seem to go
I get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
Summertime is falling down and winter is closing in
I had me a man in summertime
He had summer-colored skin
And not another girl in town
My darling’s heart could win
But when the leaves fell on the ground
And bully winds came around pushed them face down in the snow
He got the urge for going and I had to let him go
He got the urge for going
When the meadow grass was turning brown
And summertime was falling down and winter was closing in
Now the warriors of winter they gave a cold triumphant shout
And all that stays is dying and all that lives is getting out
See the geese in chevron flight flapping and racing on before the snow
They’ve got the urge for going and they’ve got the wings so they can go
They get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
Summertime is falling down and winter is closing in
I’ll ply the fire with kindling and pull the blankets to my chin
I’ll lock the vagrant winter out and I’ll bolt my wandering in
I’d like to call back summertime and have her stay for just another month or so
But she’s got the urge for going so I guess she’ll have to go
She get the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And all her empires are falling down
And winter’s closing in
And I get the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And summertime is falling down
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Joni Mitchell
Urge For Going lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Crazy Crow Music / Siquomb Music Publishing,
Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

23.0ct.oz9 Pre Post Script

beside those trees

beside those trees

Little Russia/ thanks again to calliope nerve. this was written for my friend jim back in the days of smoke:

Little Russia

No one knows for sure how

Maybe some ice age fluke

Some shamanistic trance gone awry

But some how it is there

Just a few acres wild weeds witnessed by an empty house an

Abandoned sheet metal shop standing where once the white wood slaughter house once stood where layer after layer of thick lead paint could not keep old blood from seeping through

Beside those trees where the road parallels those tracks over that stone grey arch bridging this river tainted now as then by run off from the tannery

just a few acres wedged in by a half circle ridge of glacier rock and sapling hardwoods where wolves though heard are never seen and leave no trace not even in the snow where only smooth soled sets of footprints going in disappear mid filed and like wise sometimes appear mid filed heading out and all through the month of November any remnant of growing thing be it stem or stalk or stick, each night is tipped with a single never freezing liquid drop such are the tears from all those who pass in one direction or the other through what we called Little Russia.

2. When I was a kid at school we had the books

They had all the symbols in them even satanic ones

All the symbols of the world

Old and new.

But one day this man came, he went around to all the class rooms.

He took away all our books.

Even the teachers were mad at this

But they had to give us other books.

New books without all the symbols.

Now they don’t teach you anything,

Just reading comprehension – you read something they give you,

Then you answer a question about what you read

Then you get a degree

Then you forget it.

But I remember we had the books

They had ever symbol in the world even the satanic ones

All the symbols old and new –

Now people don’t know anything.

They don’t know this is an ancient world,

They think it’s only six thousand years but its not.

Its millions and millions.

We had the symbols once but they were taken away.

And I know this, even though people don’t know them anymore,

There would be no world without the symbols.

And I know this, there’s still a place where you can find them,

Beside those trees where the road parallels those tracks over that stone grey arch bridging this river tainted now as then by run off from the tannery

Under the bark of old wood, drifting under pieces of bark and branches

All what people say are just worm marks the symbols of the world old and new made by such worms as those there are in Little Russia.

3. What they don’t teach anymore about photosynthesis in schools?

That each leaf of each tree makes a photograph, an image of what’s around it. This is how there are many worlds at once.

each year when the leaves fall the images are stored inside the tree and when the new leaves appear they do so with all the images taken by all those leaves that came before and then through out the growing season these fresh leaves take additional photographs. The images get stronger and stronger depending on how many photographs of them have been stored. The longer something is there the stronger it becomes – building up substance over the years.

that’s why if you parked a model A here beside this tree and left it there eventually the real car would disintegrate but then be replaced by an image of the car an image created by thirty years of constant photographing by multitudes of leaves. Thus these photos are synthesised into an image so

That long after the original had rotted away

That model A

No mechanic can make run

No grease fills its crank case

No gasoline fills its gas tank

You sat in it made it go up and down up and down

Then ran home shouting

Grandpa! Grandpa! I flew the car! I flew the car!

Beside those trees where the road parallels those tracks over that stone grey arch bridging this river tainted now as then by run off from the tannery.

Didn’t we meet there once?

Weren’t you the one draped in skins?

Smile polished sepia

Black eyes stranded behind silver languages

Mindful of Ukraine choirs before the war

Dear one, dear one, my dear dear dear one

Starlings of tears each familiar voice polished crystal snow

Beside those trees where the road parallels those tracks over that stone grey arch bridging this river tainted now as then by run off from the tannery

( for Jim when he lived in a tent by a river in New Milford ct. – we met while I stopped for a smoke, we shared a few and had a conversation. it was winter and I only had a fiver to give him and a half a pack of Marlboros – he gave me this poem. I tried for years to do it justice. He’d a done it better himself. Anyway the important thing is Jim not the poem – so here you go Jim – this ones for you, and maybe all those who unlike yourself never had a chance with all the symbols of the world.)


PD Lyons blog for poetry publishing info and new releases is Lyon’s LULU page is available at

promise, from : ceremonies of the horsemen, by pd lyons

indian pipe @ sleeping giant

indian pipe @ sleeping giant

prisoners of ghosts haunt the hallways of my own memories
past lives
opportunities regretted
twists and turns
I don’t want to leave only dried hollow husks
blown by my own reluctance to participate in my own and only treasure.

we lived in a time
when women sat beside us whispering on back porch landing’s
interrupted by the neighbors
running down the stairs
hands wet beneath Danskin purple skirts she spoke of how in past or future
it didn’t matter which but another life
I was her child she the mother
knowing I would go on to crucifixion
suckled me with salt water tears
glistening breasts mingling milk
into my hungry hot house mouth.

were there ever other places
other days,
a mouth full of meat
a belief in anything was possible.

I stood with someone once at midnight, the midnight
not just a time form but place
a place where midnight
born and lives out its days in each of us.
The place of my mid night sometime in October
out there by the water
breath rising in smoke
dew soaked shivering pirate breath kisses

I called you cypress by moon light,
buccaneer beauty I chose
there in the place of my own midnight
you but not you
rather the you of what you were.

I called you Guinevere by moonlight
lay down with you there
in the pace of my own midnight
among cold Halloween golf course grass
surrounded by stolen beer bottles
by a dwindling hedge barely separated from the street.

The only promise I ever kept –
never a mathematician or carpenters wife.
I have not even now more years than miles can tell – broken that promise.
Sometimes I forget I made it,
sometimes I forget to congratulate myself for not breaking it,
sometimes I try to barter it, threaten to turn my back if somebody doesn’t pretty soon pay me for it.

But I am not the famous rebel,
I am not the muse’s figure head –
quietly steadily I am only the keeper of my own promise
born from misguided Madonnas
introduced by pale white women the place of my own midnight

I have never stopped,
I have never turned back
that’s all I have ever really done
with all that treasure which was my life,
no big deal but still something real, no surrender, no slipping ,
no disparity of one who broke the only promise ever truly made.


pop song 1994 from: Background – ALL THE ANSWERS

Backround All the Answers 1994 01 Pop

“pop” – original lyrics by peter lyons music & vocals by Bren Dude

Down the streets of ecstacy
I’ll take my chances endlessly
And there’s no need for me to run
With my fingers wrapped around a gun

reality what can it be
BUt a misery you set for me
there’s no sense in wanting more cuz
this is what I have been put here for

Look around What do I see?
there aint nuthin here for me
Look around what do I see
There aint nuthin more for me

You preachers of morality
how would you do to live like me
heaven’s just a novelty
another thing they denied to me

so down the streets of ecstasy
I’ll make my way most carelessly
and you can judge it tragedy,
but I wont surrender that easily

Look around What do I see?
there aint nuthin here for me
Look around what do I see
There aint nuthin more for me

So down the streets of ecstasy
I take my chances endlessly
and theres no need for me to run
with my fingers wrapped around a gun

what if i could tell you, by pd lyons

What if i could tell you about the day?  first real snow? Crows huddled in the grey fingers of that tree, watching as if waiting for  for something I didn’t have to give


What if I could tell you, that poem you wrote? I’ve hung copies of it up on the bedroom wall, the back door, the horses’ stalls, and along the straight wire fluttering like little white flags between the paddocks and the pasture.

If you were here? Oh I know what you would say, you never liked it anyway, kept it only out of loyalty. That poem you tried to write for me

now like some accidental prophecy  no longer needing to be read


mix media by morgan lyons


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