Tag Archives: america

open letter to America


Dear America,

With all your peoples and all your resources imagine how great you would be if your country was united?

Sincerely,

Pd Lyons

 

 

 

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Women Buying Guns In America, by pd lyons


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Smash the fuckin’ TV walk barefoot in the snow

Pierce ourselves with steel

Chew tequila worms ‘til the hand of god wipes our mouths

Piss wherever, say whatever fuck whoever

Fearless with the night of any street of any place

And no Thelma and Louise

We don’t die

Don’t even get caught

We hide

Disguised as geriatric cunts

Happy enough to sleep now

Two ends of the same rope coiling

Richly deserved pools of never never land

Surrender only to each other

 Our Peter Pan tongues.

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~~~~~~~

 

 

as published in/by

http://www.lulu.com/shop/rolling-thunder-press/rolling-thunder-quarterly-fall-2013/paperback/product-21229352.html

he could not find you amazing, poetry & photography by pd lyons


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“feed on us before you bury us” – Anais Nin

 

he could not find you amazing
he could not touch your mystery
he could re call vast wilderness
adrift among archetypal feminine
a wash among deltas
Venus like salt mingling with new rain
blood like midnights paling   lunary

a pleasure beyond wounds
a mingling beyond physicality
a hungrier type of mouth
willing to feed and to be fed upon

 

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drawn up the spectre of a planet from the limbo of lunary souls — E. A. Poe

To — — –. Ulalume: A Ballad

By Edgar Allan Poe

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174155

riverside waterbury ct

riverside waterbury ct

 

dear america – A response to reading the news today by pd lyons


dear america
how many does it take?
how many of my beautiful daughters
torn beat burned drugged ripped raped shot?
how many of my beautiful sons?
torn beat burned drugged ripped raped shot
why is there no room for tenderness?
why are the breasts of my motherland sharped to razor edge?
why the strength of my fatherland perpetrating not protecting?
dear america,
when did you become such an abuser of your children?

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True Democracy & Boomerz by pd lyons


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 instill 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.

 

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Boomerz

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.

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Boomerz – from  Caribu & Sister Stones

ISBN:     9781905425907

Published by Lapwing Belfast

except america by pd lyons


because
the sun is out

i’m just sitting in the shade
breezes stir the unkempt lawn

music drifts out the kitchen door
Ali Farka Toure and Roy Cooder
and because of this

and because of the bourbon ginger lime in my glass
and the perfectly drawing romeo y julieta
i could be anywhere
any you could come

except America

 

as long as there is silence by pd lyons


 

 

 

what could I give you

for your own

hunger

but that is something no one else can know

or give another

I can make you hunger

but only you can

give it

only you could know it

nothing really to do with me

anger

that is something I could look you in the eye with

I could make you cringe

but that is something you would

never do

hit back

yell back run away

a thing only for everyone

else to share

maybe something with ink

a series of needles piercing colours

well chose by yourself

images of meaning

secretly placed in hard to reach with my tongue places

accompanied by steel?

pure stainless holding other holes

open for future explorations

how busy will my tongue become?

new places and the usual spaces

and what ever else could I get lost with in you?

what could I give you for your own?

what ever I have always done

your own cum

my own tongue

whatever else you love

as long as there is silence

 

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why we like rolling thunder quarterly/ 6 poems by pd lyons


Hell yes~ These are awesome! I’d love to use all of them for the fall issue. I’ll keep you posted as the release approaches in late October.
Thanks,
Tommy

Sent from Yahoo! Mail on Android

http://www.lulu.com/shop/rolling-thunder-press/rolling-thunder-quarterly-fall-2013/paperback/product-21229352.html

Rolling Thunder Quarterly: Fall 2013

Paperback, 108 Pages
This item has not been rated yet
Price: €19.06
Ships in 3–5 business days
Edited by Tommy Anthony. featuring Kevin Catalano, Jeff Kappell, Rachael Delamar, Anne Carrath Donoghue, Raven Nicole Hughes, Chiisai, Glenn Killman, Alex, Alyssa, Sarah Brooks, Sally Deskins, Kim Farleigh, Crazy Lombardo the Master of Pork, Jim Lopez, PD Lyons, Bethany W. Pope, Fernando Meisenhalter, Matt Morris, Simon Rogghe, Kris Ryan, Emily, Lyn Friberg, Tara, Tali, Stacie Thompson, Trinity, Penelope Tyson, Laura Madeline Wiseman, Leena Worthy, and David S. Pointer
Women Buying Guns In America
Smash the fuckin’ TV walk barefoot in the snow
Pierce ourselves with steel
Chew tequila worms ‘til the hand of god wipes our mouths
Piss wherever, say whatever fuck whoever
Fearless with the night of any street of any place
And no Thelma and Louise
We don’t die
Don’t even get caught
We hide
Disguised as geriatric cunts
Happy enough to sleep now
Two ends of the same rope coiled
Richly deserved never never land
Surrendered, only to each other
Our Peter Pan tongues.
 

 

Crazy teenage slut
She wasn’t really the pretty sort but she wasn’t all that bad.
She wasn’t really very smart you might-a called her dumb.
But she was great for givin’ head and if you treated her just right
She’d fuck your friends as well.
And somehow she didn’t mind it,
All those guys that loved her all those nights,
Even though they’d just look right through her in the school day light.
Yeah some how she didn’t mind it she made it be alright
And every boy that loved her grew up to be a man.
And every man one of them married other girls,
The kinda girls that wouldn’t care about her even if they knew.
And maybe she still thinks about it, maybe years go by.
And maybe she hears about them, their new lives and their wives.
And maybe she goes out and gets herself a gun,
She seen it on TV, she knows it can be done.
Finds out where they live, where they work, where they go to church.
And you know there’s nothing to it, just knock at the door, an appointment at four, a seat on the aisle.
Just give em a smile. Just say hello. Just see what they say.
And later in the court room with all the visits done
Tell the judge “I’m sorry for all those things I done.
Sorry for them guys and for their families. But wasn’t it just like they said
Too stupid to even be a whore; just a crazy teen age slut?
So you see it is insanity your honour not no murder one.
I was and still am crazy that’s what each one said…”
And maybe she still thinks about it
Maybe years go by.

Plus four more poems by pd lyons

Irish Winter/ part one – w/ Richard Brautigan


 
 
 
 
 

Irish Winter part 1 with Richard Brautigan

 
Part one
the Richard Brautigan of my youth brings me not fame and fortune artist type but rather here,, un wanting to go to work, un wanting to start the fire; for some reason not minding even this Irish cold of a stone cottage on the soft outlands by some ancient fairy tear drop lake. older than children of lir, older than swans, sorrows of an age of ice surrendered, scared into a valley of wind and soft reeds  such as where stones were heaved into boxes for the filing of small human lives. grey bones of long dead glaciers and the twisted muscle of earth’s resistance, cut to fit by long dead humans . Stone of bone encapsulated ice age how many days? Days of even now the open air mid winter warmer outside than is in. the stone locks in its glacial ghosts. the nights even by an open fire, filled with whispers of returned revenge. I could fit a small car into the fire place. In America it would be romantic. Here I suppose sometimes it is , in the summer if we get one, in the golden autumn a few days now in November. To talk about the weather an insincere politeness, unless you were out in the rural lands where then it was a true concern as well as a way of showing friendliness. These days now to talk about the weather reminds me of cliché Si-Fi stories something from the 50s, you know nuclear winter or disrupted axis due to alien interventions or atomic testing or maybe an asteroid? Trees are growing within the Arctic circle. The north pole will soon be used to mark a golf cup.
 
There are places to sit inside the hearth. Places to sir by the cast iron crane that once held the iron handles of iron cooking pots, sway them in and out back n forth like the three bears, like Hansel and Gretel like a witches cauldron bubble and trouble, like tiny Tim like a dream of every long gone discoverer of open fire. the heaviness of stone, iron, cold, fire, turf, these were the places that only famine and/or bailiffs cold ever lever you out of. But now I am here from America, wondering who the girls were in the photographs with Richard Brautigan on the covers of his books. wondering whatever happened to people I used to know back in the USA, high school days and can I ever not wish justice on those bulling bastards of my first year? ah but today is now and the sun catches little dangling crystals off the candle holder small rainbows brief n glorious across the table up the white walls into the dark beam ceiling disappear because of marauding clouds reappear dance renew as my typing slightly shakes the table.

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