Category Archives: from the old notes

When I wrote new songs and you would listen out of friendship

By PD Lyons


When I wrote new songs and you would listen out of friendship
By PD Lyons
Where we were always cool
By the reservoir
In the pines
Up some stairs tucked into angular corners
Warm winter kitchens smelling of gas
Down by the factories
Not sleeping all night
Into a morning of crisp clean cold
Out on the back door landing
Three flights below the city without fear we knew

April 14-15 Part 2 Cape Cod, Annie Wilder, Race Point by PD Lyons



April 14-15 Part 2

Today he drove only to Marconi beach. P-town would have been too far. At the entrance a park warden was stopping cars. Now what? But the officer was very friendly wanted only to advise them that yes the beach was open and there was a controlled burn going on and no need to be afraid or call the fire department. And are you here for the Titanic memorial Ceremony? If so its over there. Yes you can just  go to the beach. Its a beautiful day for it.
Their drive had been uneventful, stopped for petrol and bottles of water just the other side of “suicide alley”. Yesterday he joined the child in the water off Race Point. It was cold it was fun it was the big giant ocean! The wife had time to read and snap a few photos of them turning purple. Today cooler, windy-er but they made it down the wooden steps out to an almost deserted shore knowing that as soon as base camp was established they’d spend time trying to duplicate the day before.
The water was indeed freezing colder than that at Race Point yet they stayed in longer. Once she said to him “This is the most fun ever!” he knew he’d stay in with her until they froze to death or she gave in and wanted to get out. It was dark by the time they made it back to Sandwich.
He decided to take them to the canal see the water by starlight, maybe a ship or two lights drifting through the black. They got out of the Jeep just as a fishing boat put in. Lets go see what they got he said. The child agreed. So they walked over to the Annie Wilder. There were two men and a woman aboard. Hello. He explained how they wanted to know a little bit about fishing boats and how the nets worked. The younger of the two men explained a little. No it wasn’t a good day he said. Flounder he said. They showed them a tub full, neatly packed white belly up all looked the same size. There weren’t many tubs at all. Does she like fish he asked. Morgan never met a sea food she dint like she told them.  Just made some fillets. Would you like some? and he was away. I don’t have any cash he told the woman. Did you ask him to sell it to you? No. Wouldn’t have sold it to you even if you had he said. Here you go. Just wish us luck for tomorrow. There was about two pound of pure white medallions. The next morning the child made a picture on a black piece of paper, surrounded by silver ovals, silver flounders all around the Annie Wilder. 

n 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

He Saw A Picture of You, by pd lyons


He saw a picture of you today. Still there on Abbey St. Blonde hair like straw thatched out from under the rain soaked brim of that old black hat. There was mud on your wellies, there was a crooked smile on your face as if some wonderful power of secrets about to be told… then left to silence. How many years, how many miles, how many faces, strangers and places so called home? In a punch full of tears all at once he knew it wasn’t himself or them or even you but Dublin broke his heart.

small towns a snip by PD Lyons


Small Towns

She walked up McNelly street. Passed the fish market with it’s ripe seven in the morning ice crates, the vegetable docks with smashed cucumbers rancid orange juice and diesel fumes. She passed the nine to fivers in their Mademoiselle dresses and Mr. Nash hair styles. They were all heading high heeling it to newsstands and coffee-to-go shops before filling themselves into banks or offices or some other such proper place of employment. These were women of a hectic time, these women of another breed, She responded to them as one species might respond to the similarities  found in some other with curiosity, a passing thought as to what they must be like, a bit of compassion giving way to pity and then a final contemptuous dismissal of them all since they couldn’t possibly have any bearing on her life.

King Laoghaire by pd lyons

King Laoghaire

Let the high hill speak for me:

Those who look shall see,

Full regalia compared

With stones of destiny.

Those with memory

Shall know

Cruelty the old belief

Compare with loving points of Christianity.

Let the high hill speak for me:

Bishop or pagan disguise

Usurper, still by only lies

Once Bridgit discards such foreign shame –

Who will stand high on Tara Hill again?

originally published by the now defunct The Ides of March Journal september 2011. archives :

the king in question was adversarial towards Patrick and the christian ways. he was steadfast to the old religion. many years later there was a drive to get a new statute of st. patrick built up on the hill of tara, the original seat of the high kings of ireland. there was a request for poetry which would be included in a publication to be sold as generating revenue. not being overly christian and wondering why the hill of tara should have a statue of partick – i wrote an submitted this poem, which was accepted by the organization. the book was never published because there was some benefactor(s) who donated all the cash needed.  later i sent it over to the Ides Of March people and the chose to publish it.

from poems found in boxes. for Loretta 1973 by pd lyons

for my dear friend from long ago and far away. remember?


Rose was the first thought

Remembering was coming

But put back

Almost worn out

Now – where roses bloom

Not trying

For anything

Now – where roses bloom

Not trying

For anything

Now – when I am

And am not

Then or pretty soon

Or never or forever


When words burn meaningless

Giving warmth to bodies not left behind

The thoughts are all

Growing like flowers

Coiling like snakes

Blooming gaping

Snakes and flowers

The flesh we care for

The planet we care for

The stars we strive for –

Close you eyes

See .

Sept.12.73  for Loretta.

1974 crosby

from Poems Found in Boxes by pd lyons


I’m a back street rambler

Got no place to go

My lovers are crazy

My money is low

And it’s a slow death

I’m waiting for

A slow death I’m praying for

Got no gifts to offer

No money no dope

All I gots my love

And they say it aint right

Its long night I’m going into

A long night I’m going through

My mirrors are many

My insights are few

no tears left to cleanse me

Got nothing for you

So, I’m two feet for the highway

Two feet for the road

Don’t know what’ll happen but I hope it goes slow.

We Had Our own Penises Then, poetry by PD Lyons

We Had Our own Penises Then

Taught them tricks

Sit up



Roll over

Play dead


Got them to fetch

 Escort us on the lead

Not mess in the house

Be careful how they peed


And whenever we wanted

We’d change them.

Start again with new ones –





Sometimes they’d fall in love with us

Break their own little hearts

But our love?

Only meant for each other

Was not that kind.

Che by pd lyons w/photos

ruthless pursuit of your own dream.

suffering, the only reward for those who commit themselves to a dream.

swamped by muck of the masses.

vain valiant fool.

exhaustion your killer.

all sucked away, your ideals, your blood.

too late for you.

too late for those who loved you.

the people get the leaders they deserve.

no one asked you to die for them,

so they killed you.


The Acid Reality by pd lyons

We almost changed the world

from hate to love

from war to peace

from stress to joy & compassion

sickness to care

poison to healing

abusiveness to kindness

starvation to nourishment

subjugation to inclusiveness 

greed to respect

you get the idea?

and it could have been so much easier than what we decided to allow instead – wtf

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