Monthly Archives: March 2023

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

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

Fallen Lilies, by PD Lyons Poetry

Pdlyons's Explorations


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…

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This Is Where We Should Stay by pd lyons

this is where we should stay

where its peaceful

where i don’t hurt you or myself

where the gold line of morning along the meadows

gives way to silver darkening to grey

and the moment of quiet when rain stops

we try to make up names for


28n03 23 morning coffee notes by pd lyons

on todays tray – american guns children constitution wtf & coffee

28 03 23


So, it’s kind of like the Bible in that it is set in stone? And where it says weapons for all that’s just what you worship? However, this is an interpretation that you worship right? Something you have decided is set in stone no matter how much suffering is caused.

Shouldn’t a government for the people assess how much damage is being done to the life liberty and pursuit of happiness that the weapons for all approach has wrought? Shouldn’t an approach that for example doesn’t care how many children are murdered be revisited? Shouldn’t the people of this government demand it? Since when did the Constitution become a religious idol to be worshiped?


So even if we say fine the problem isn’t guns its people. Shouldn’t the people then participate in a federal background check which is updated regularly, an education and licencing program as well an insurance program? How would you all feel if the auto industry was free to sell cars to whoever wanted and could afford them and there was no requirement for drivers licence or insurance?

 Never mind the piece of paper doesn’t mention cars. How about what kind of people sacrifice their kids to a piece of paper as interpreted by those who are at best corporate hacks at worse just don’t care how many children are murdered.


If you can’t figure out a way to better care for your electorate and the children of this whole country then you need to be replaced by someone who would at least be willing to try. To say that because the constitution says this is the way it should be and there fore there’s not an issue to be resolved. Should be a firing offence


My thought:


This is not a gun or a persons problem

It is a social problem.

If you tolerate this nothing can be done approach

You too are complicit

Look up the numbers of the dead and wounded the numbers might astound you

Look up the numbers of those traumatised – will you even find a number?

Think about how this will impact the society you live in?


 The fact that the United States of America cannot find a better way is true tragedy

Here’s a mortal sin for you – the constitution was never meant to be set in stone. It was meant to evolve.


23 3 23 Morning Coffee Notes by PD Lyons

On today’s tray ~ Woman Blood Christ Female Darkness


23 3 23


Grail Woman Blood Bride Christ

Easy to read the new testament with feminist eye. The goddess is there before us. The only missing part is ourself. To read with our heart not with someone else’s law.


Try Eve ~


Serpent ancient symbol of immortality

Knowledge wisdom tree of knowledge

Every oppressor dictator in history considered knowledge to be a sin.

There is more mannishness than godliness in the wrathgod’s jealousy.

Eve the mother offering immortality – life to her children and to the one she loves.

Someone has deemed that a sin worthy of being exiled.

Again, smells like toxic masculinity rather than god to me.

So, we are exiled from Eden/eve.

We are exiled from the mother. The one who gives all in favour for the one who doles out.

The one who loves freely as the mother as the Christ.


Put it back. Make it real.

Every feast day for every woman saint together in the front pews women should sit together. Every event for Mary. line the pews together. Every rosary sit together. Show every priest the solidarity of the mother with her children. Mary with Christ. Children with the Mother Church.

What Christ has wrought with eve

What Christ has Wrought with Mary

Let no mere man break asunder.

One of the most female based religions needs the involvement of women in order to be restored. Healed.



The new testament of Christ is to be read as antidote to the old testament of wrathgod. That’s the rebel Jesus. Love over idolatry. Kindness over stone. 



Once We Knew the Dark

No matter where days may differ but darkness is the same.

What if I lead you by the mouth?

Places underwater you could breathe in

Fingers taught on instruments stranger than bones

Drawn by strings reminiscent of words long ago

Familiar colours since extinct.

When winter was all there was could you find reasons to celebrate?

No matter how elaborate windows intricate trees harmonic songs

What does it take to lure a silver sun?

Bleaktitude chased

Hot whiskey voices

Oak wood smoke

CúirtRed berry holly

Slender secret ghosts vulnerable to love.

If it were long ago and my name was Jesus

Would you change your name for me?

Would you be my Mary?

I have become food for other creatures

Things I never knew existed indulge themselves in me

Grey not white birds mark my passing secret self

No evidence during that time of my existence

Yet even so something still remains:

A dying ember tenderness unquestioned.


Drawn to the wound in you moon strong as my own

A thing to be fingered or fucked a place to meet or loose ourselves.

What makes me want to reach in wonder what shape your creatures take as I do?

Unlike them others, reverse rodents unable to stay,

I’m not afraid. I know nothing survives the future.

Why wait for secrets? When we forget enough we die.

21.3.23. Morning Coffee Notes by PD Lyons

On todays tray:

stories, energy, equanimity, democracy, boomers, oppression, religion , and coffee.


21 3 23


I have often told my self stories

Then believed them to be true simply because I was the one who told them

These have been the cause of all my suffering




There is energy. There is us needing to identify these energies. To categorise, conceptualise, judge. The defining of energies makes us feel solid, in control. That’s why joy, peace, kindness usually seen as strength. Not like anger or hatred, these give us a delusion of being solid, strong. These mask our fear of not knowing who or what we might really be. Through them we pretend to know what we are – firm solid strong hero of our own story.

There is energy.

It needs no identification

In order to be

But it takes a bit of courage

To let go of the pretence of being solid.


Reading life like poetry expands your world






There is energy.


There is energy that is good

There is energy that is bad.


There are types

Tired energy






There is energy




Whatever tells you

Don’t look

Don’t care

Don’t question

Don’t learn

Don’t love

Don’t live

That isn’t democracy or religion,

That’s oppression.



True Democracy

See I was taught that democracy takes courage. The courage to allow the rights of the other. Not only their right to exist but their rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That it takes democratic courage to allow the other a voice, a choice, a privacy, an equality.

The belief that majority rules is erroneous with regards  to true democracy. Otherwise, everything depends on the personal belief of the many. This is only might makes right, this is not democracy. Democracy is the courage of all to allow the human and civil rights of all.

The question we should be asking people is – do you really want to live in a country where the your rights and the rights of others may justifiably be revoked every time the majority demographic shifts?

Today when I look at my country that’s what I  see. Rather than the nurturing of courage, it seems to perpetuate the right to bully, the right to instil fear, the right to make money at all costs, the right of might – with no regard for the amount of misery, tragedy, or instability it causes  its own citizens or the rest of world.

It has always taken extreme courage to be democratic. It still does.




I live only in memory
The day to day does not inspire me
I only want to sit here think about what used to be.

Here only in my own home.
Locked doors, paid taxes, insurance policies, protect me.
TV,  petrol chemicals, nourish me.

People not like me outrage me.

by PD Lyons



It is much easier to philosophise about pain

While it’s not active



11.3.23 Morning Coffee Notes (re: suicide ) by pd lyons

pd lyons photography

The first time I went to a funeral was for the wife of one of my then sister in laws friends. She had shot herself in the head. She wasn’t anyone I knew well but I’d met here now and then. She seemed so very happy. Like they were a good match, and their little boy was doted on. I’d heard how when her husband came home from work he found her. I could only imagine so I did. Her lovely blonde hair blood clots brain. And what about her face? I think she used a rifle or a shot gun. Pistols were harder to get in those days. Fortunately, the son was at school or out or something. Maybe she didn’t want him to see. Any way she was 24  only a few years older than myself.  I’d left not really wanting to stay long. But not before the little fellow tried to get the coffin open so he could be with mommy.


It might be because of this my heart has always been open to those who choose to end their lives and those who survive choice. You know the families friends loved ones friends. While I can understand all their emotional and reactions I never get how other folk make it their business to get angry and demonstrative about it. At times even ridiculing the dead person. I guess since anger always comes from fear they must be afraid of what they cant control and feel threatened in some way by a person’s choice even though it has nothing to do with them.


But family and loved ones etc I think that they must be accepted and respected allowed their expressions.


Sometimes the best we can do is stand beside the grieving and keep our silence as respect and encouragement.




We had come to that place

Where sometimes a river, a chasm, an ocean, a darkness

We, unlike you could go no further.



Snow comes soft fragile slowly

Each unique contribution

Until stopping the world in its tracks.




We’re all going to be hurting

At times we’ll be tempted to lash out.

As if anger can push away our hurt.

Do your best to not give in to that urge.

The more you allow yourself to feel

The more you allow yourself to heal.

The more you lash out,

The more the hurt grows.


Over the years I would learn more about suicide and families. My work in residential treatment centres and drug addiction and jut everyday life ( no pun intended)


Stainless un-marked sky


Against a powder green wall single bed

Magazine photos yellow cellophane taped

No underwear favourite red t-shirt

30/06 lever action

Blue barrel fingerprints

Weevil ticking toes

Flys hum against the glass

Until heat makes everything

Even outside



Beneath that shirt

Bump each little island

Up to where if a boy

An Adams apple ‘d be.

Knees steady. Butt end

On a white board floor.


Spidering fingers.

Raw cotton breath.

Knowing it’s loaded.

Stainless un-marked

Alone in your room







Last Poem Before Oregon


Slept in groves of oranges

Visited by only wet nurse bees

Shaded by impossible leaves

Cloud drifting shapes of which made harlequin

Dreams disturbed gently by nimble hums

A voice like Marcello young again

Lip sticking fully curved

Remember the time

We discovered our deep lush alikeness

And rose, perfect stamens

A fruit of aching beauty



 for Olga




Mira Gut, by pd lyons

Mira Gut

there are no flowers here but snow.
the bay not yet free chunked with ice
the white of which exists only against a distant liquid sea.
at least the sun visits, comforting,
illusion though it is,
visions of thawing, melting down to something green.

in the long sleep of winter I have dreamed
something Spanish that you said along a twilight turquoise
something soft covering sun drenched shoulders
silver threads an old man’s harp played for money by the moon.





Was lucky enough to live in Cape Breton for a while. The area Mira Gut was where the river Mira entered the Atlantic. We lived across the street from the ocean. Sometimes we’d walk down to the Mira bridge and fish for mackerel. Some of the most beautiful parts of being there were the winters.  this was probably written on 2003.



Anorexia Nervosa poem and photography by pd lyons

Anorexia Nervosa

she has been
to me
and in serving
i make an art,
of that which
have been forbidden
i express
on my tight
a tale
everyone wants
to interpret
i cling to it
like a charm
she has been
to me
with secret dark
eyes closed
a sea
of objects
so safe
she does not
move me
but rather
causes me
to linger
tip toe
from eternity

she has been
to me
this ornamental flesh
a power
always yearned for
and i would
cut myself
for her
but this she
does not
ask for

this version originally published by Bone Orchard Poetry 11/2012

Back in the eighties I worked in a residential treatment centre in Litchfield Ct. called The Country Place. it was the first time I met people dealing with anorexia. Renee Nell, the woman who established and ran the centre was particularly interested in anorexia. She was respectfully mystified and intrigued with its manifestations and how difficult it was to treat.



8. 3. 23.

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