Category Archives: WOMEN WE SHOULD KNOW

If We Could Allow Grief by PD Lyons

In the latest issue of Buddhadharma Quarterly  I read a beautiful article by Joan Sutherland, Roshi titled Here at the End of the World In it she eloquently and effectively explores our social grief and lack of expression and how it is impacting our response or lack of response regarding the environmental situation. Below is my own attempt to express myself regarding grief and gun violence. While I make no comparison to Roshi Sutherland and my own pale writing I felt I must site her influence. Perhaps from here you’ll seek her out? Here is a direct link to her site and the complete article

Thank you for reading.

pd Lyons



If we could allow grief

Our grief to manifest


A school room of 7 year olds 

Shot to death

A spring morning

Their families

The responders

The survivors

The shooter

All grief worthy


If we could allow this grief

Wouldn’t we be able then to progress?


Fear of grief

Shielded with anger

Anger stifles, prevents movement, stagnates into polarity, perpetuation of fear.


If we could allow grief

Could we not then allow healing?


this courage, is it not worth daring?


through her he was to know god by pd lyons

through her he was to know god

she brought him inward

through a darkness full of wonder

empty of fear

she shared him mysteries

free from all that was jagged

it was not big

it was not seduction

it was an encompassing healing

a grace full of joyful weeping

silence the first breath he ever fully took her beauty communion

Contemplate This, from May Sarton & Carl Jung and my Good Dad

one of the benefits of growing up with a dad who was an out of print / second hand books seller – or as it was back in the pre computer days , a book scout; was that he would give me little gems that he thought were ” up my alley”.  As a teenager i was given things like Henry miller, James Joyce, Tolkien, Tanith Lee, Anais Nin, etc. these days i am no teenager but i am well blessed with books.

currently i am re reading a beautiful book once given to me by my dad. Of course i no longer have the copy he gave me, one of us may have sold it years ago, or maybe it perished in my own great water in the storage space disaster of 2010 .any way I am reading Journal of a Solitude by May Sarton. She was a particularly beautiful gift to me from my father.

If any of you write or art or deal with solitude or depression  in any way I would recommend her as boon companion. She seems fond of Jung and so my offerings here are her quotes from Joung :

” I have been pondering two passages from Jung. The first is a key to the dangers of sublimation : “One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious” The second is:

” Only the living presence of the eternal images can lend the human psyche a dignity that makes it morally possible for man to stand by his own soul, and be convinced that it is worthwhile to persevere with himself. Only then will he realize that the conflict is in him, that the discord and tribulation are his riches which should not be squandered by attacking others; and that if fate should exact a debt from him in the for of guilt, it is a debt to himself.” – from Journal of a solitude by May Sarton, W.W. Norton New York 1977, page110

so I got mine for .50 used paperback in keeping with my dads school of used book hunting techniques.

why not get your own?

imagine  a world where people decide that they are worth persevering with themselves and that “riches… should not be squandered by attacking others!




Happy Anniversary 18 years! (part 2) bravest of the brave,

love of my life




DSC_2433 DSC_2416 DSC_2415





“Fisherman’s Blues”

I wish I was a fisherman
Tumblin’ on the seas
Far away from dry land
And its bitter memories
Casting out my sweet line
With abandonment and love
No ceiling bearin’ down on me
Save the starry sky above
With light in my head
You in my arms
Woo!I wish I was the brakeman
On a hurtlin’ fevered train
Crashing a-headlong into the heartland
Like a cannon in the rain
With the beating of the sleepers
And the burnin’ of the coal
Counting the towns flashing by
In a night that’s full of soul
With light in my head
You in my arms
Woo!Tomorrow I will be loosened
From bonds that hold me fast
That the chains all hung around me
Will fall away at last
And on that fine and fateful day
I will take thee in my hands
I will ride on the train
I will be the fisherman
With light in my head
You in my armsLight in my head
You in my arms



Some years later, Mrs. Ansonia Feathers made the arduous journey to Hodgeman County to visit the last resting place of her only daughter. William Munny had long since disappeared with the children… some said to San Francisco where it was rumored he prospered in dry goods. And there was nothing on the marker to explain to Mrs. Feathers why her only daughter had married a known thief and murderer, a man of notoriously vicious and intemperate disposition.

Happy Anniversary 18 years – (part one) more than always, more than ever,

Bravest of the brave, treasure of my heart

and because it was always summer where we met and because its been 18 yrs married and because it was and is our wedding song and because I am not or ever will be poet enough to do you justice


“A Night In Summer Long Ago”
by mark knopfler

My lady may I have this dance
Forgive a knight who knows no shame
My lady may I have this dance
And lady may I have your name
You danced upon a soldier’s arm
And I felt the blade of love so keen
And when you smiled you did me harm
And I was drawn to you, my QueenNow these boots may take me where they will
Though they may never shine like his
There is no knight I would not kill
To have my lady’s hand to kiss
Yes and they did take me through the hall
To leave me not one breath from you
And they fell silent one and all
And you could see my heart was trueThen I did lead you from the hall
And we did ride upon the hill
Away beyond the city wall
And sure you are my lady still
A night in summer long ago
The stars were falling from the sky
And still, my heart, I have to know
Why do you love me, lady, why?
And because you are my heart and because I still remember that moment so long ago when i thought i’d not ever see you again and how it was that moment that i knew i had to ask and oh how so fucking cool it was that you better than any molly bloom said yes –


Come over the hills my bonny Irish lass
Come over the hills to your darling
You choose the road love and I’ll make a vow
That I’ll be your true love forever

Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows
Fair is the lily of the valley
Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne
But my love is fairer than any

It’s down in Killarney’s green woods that we strayed
When the moon and the stars, they were shining
For the moon shone its rays on her locks of golden hair
And she said she’d be my love forever


It’s not for the parting with my sister Kate
It’s not for the grief of my mother
It’s all for the loss of my bonny Irish lass
That my heart is breaking forever

women we should know – Becca Cala : singer, song writer, dancer, musician ,script writer, actress and all around cool person.

For me one of the coolest things about the social media age is all the new artists I get to know about which in the old days i never would have. Here is a most recent and most excellent example – Do yourself a favor and explore Becca Cala – and please feel free to share and support her work. cheers.

So, let me introduce you to Becca Cala, singer, song writer, dancer, musician , script writer, actress and all around cool person. You’ve probably never heard of her and neither did I until today when some one posted this video to me :


So I needed to hear her play, if you watch the above , while it is cool and a great intro to her – they don’t include an audio of her playing. On her own youtube channel i found some, eg:


But I must say one of my favorite discovers of Becca’s was this little film which she wrote and stared in. It has the ultimate best ending of any film i have ever seen! She is accompanied by some of her fellow students and teacher – together they make a charming piece of artwork.


you can read more about her here:

Women We Should Know – Ani di Franco

So one of the cool things about haunting second hand shops is the accidental discovery of very wonderful things. Sometimes a rare book, sometimes a masterpiece by james joyce for a dollar, sometimes museum quality Matisse for a tenner….  Maybe you know what i mean? So on this particular day in a goodwill shop in Torrington Ct. Shelly picked up this 2cd set called Canon by Ani DiFranco. I had never heard of Ani DiFranco but it was half a buck so we bought more than 2hours of Ani for fifty cents and it was a treasure! So below is the links to a video and the lyrics of one of my many favorites on the set. She is a woman we should know, an artist who is so cool for me to know



“Untouchable Face”

think i’m going for a walk now
i feel a little unsteady
i don’t want nobody to follow me
‘cept maybe you
i could make you happy you know
if you weren’t already
i could do a lot of things
and i dotell you the truth i prefer
the worst of you
too bad you had to have a better half
she’s not really my type
but i think you two are forever
and i hate to say it but
you’re perfect together

so fuck you
and your untouchable face
and fuck you
for existing in the first place
and who am i
that i should be vying for your touch
and who am i
i bet you can’t even tell me that much

two-thirty in the morning
and my gas tank will be empty soon
neon sign on the horizon
rubbing elbows with the moon
a safe haven of sleepless
where the deep fryer’s always on
radio is counting down
the top 20 country songs
and out on the porch the fly strip is
waving like a flag in the wind
y’know, i don’t look forward
to seeing you again soon
you’ll look like a photograph of yourself
taken from far far away
and i won’t know what to do
and i won’t know what to say

except fuck you…

i see you and i’m so perplexed
what was i thinking
what will i think of next
where can i hide
in the back room there’s a lamp
that hangs over the pool table
and when the fan is on it swings
gently side to side
there’s a changing constellation
of balls as we are playing
i see orion and say nothing
the only thing i can think of saying

is fuck you…


Writer(s): Ani di Franco
Copyright: Righteous Babe Music


Sentences We Like

” The summer nights were passing outside like gay whores with tinkles of cheap jewelery, opened and emollient like a vast bed”

  Anais Nin

photographer unknown

photographer unknown


” All things were born anew when her dress fell

on the floor of his room.”

Anais Nin

paris by pdlyons

paris by pdlyons

Inspiration From the First Five Minutes of Billie Hanne’s Map Of Antarctica, by pd lyons


One of the most wonderful things about the current techno age is that there are no borders between artists. I am able to meet and connect with people/artists from all The the world most of which I never would have heard of let alone converse with a few decades ago. Some are inspirational to my own work. Many are so supportive of what at times is a lonely, discouraging, depressing art form which I indulge in – basically I am a poet of isolation. or so it seems sometimes.

Anyway about this blog post; Billie Hanne is a choreographer, dancer, director, artist, teacher based in Brussels.  Some how a few years back I was lucky enough to “discover”  her and the art she is involved with. I got to watch via Vimeo, her Map Of Antarctica. Details of the production as well a a free link to the video of the performance are below. The stills by Julyen Hamilton and others are from that evening. There are about five minuets of the dance before any words are spoken. That silence is what inspired the poetry I have written.  Generously I have been granted prior permission to use the images and video link which I hope, a bit selfishly I must admit, will enhance the quality of my own words. Please consider reading and viewing. Thank you

( stills from camera by Julyen Hamilton and others)





Dreams of old ships
an astringency of ghosts

birthing sounds
blue whale
slips of silver fishes
rime glow among the rigging
sailors lost
gulls cry

dying sounds
such tender flesh
unable to be offered
other than in delirium

before words come
slight sapphiric dakini
slew such movement
no ladder
no stairway
no haven
no need

the first meeting
sky earth
begot ice

the first meeting
sun ice
begot the wordless woman

she alone with open mouth
barefoot of silence
all there ever was to know
about birth
and its opposite
twins of the same blood spread.




this world that does not need our words
sustains us
much like the wounds of my heart.
mind, they are not other than self-inflicted
opened for the suckling
exposed for the penetrating.

do not think, who is the hero?
do not think, who is the predator?
think –
what would you be without me.

as above
so below
as within
so without




the wood of my old bones
search your more limber touch
without silence there is no noise
in ice green dreams breathe
the whiskery strength of which
crossed a world
now firm in your embrace

a sunlight through clear crystal








The Kid By Ai

I came across this poem years ago in an anthology called;  The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry edited by Alan Kaufman and published by Thunder’s Mouth Press NY. The book by no means the be all end all , nor does it claim to be but what it is, is  a treasure trove of true Americana. Below is Ai’s poem with links to info regarding her. Here is a link regarding The Outlaw Bible –


The Kid

By Ai

My sister rubs the doll’s face in mud,   
then climbs through the truck window.   
She ignores me as I walk around it,   
hitting the flat tires with an iron rod.
The old man yells for me to help hitch the team,
but I keep walking around the truck, hitting harder,   
until my mother calls.
I pick up a rock and throw it at the kitchen window,   
but it falls short.
The old man’s voice bounces off the air like a ball
I can’t lift my leg over.
I stand beside him, waiting, but he doesn’t look up
and I squeeze the rod, raise it, his skull splits open.   
Mother runs toward us. I stand still,
get her across the spine as she bends over him.
I drop the rod and take the rifle from the house.   
Roses are red, violets are blue,
one bullet for the black horse, two for the brown.  
They’re down quick. I spit, my tongue’s bloody;   
I’ve bitten it. I laugh, remember the one out back.   
I catch her climbing from the truck, shoot.   
The doll lands on the ground with her.
I pick it up, rock it in my arms.
Yeah. I’m Jack, Hogarth’s son.
I’m nimble, I’m quick.
In the house, I put on the old man’s best suit
and his patent leather shoes.
I pack my mother’s satin nightgown
and my sister’s doll in the suitcase.
Then I go outside and cross the fields to the highway.
I’m fourteen. I’m a wind from nowhere.   
I can break your heart.


Ai, “The Kid” from Vice: New and Selected Poems. Copyright © 1999 by Ai. Reprinted with the permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. This selection may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Source: Vice: New and Selected Poems (W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1999)



“My writing of dramatic monologues was a happy accident, because I took so much to heart the opinion of my first poetry teacher, Richard Shelton, the fact that the first person voice was always the stronger voice to use when writing. What began as an experiment in that voice became the only voice in which I wrote for about twenty years. Lately, though, I’ve been writing poems and short stories using the second person, without, it seems to me, any diminution in the power of my work. Still, I feel that the dramatic monologue was the form in which I was born to write and I love it as passionately, or perhaps more passionately, than I have ever loved a man.”[8]

%d bloggers like this: