Tag Archives: butterfly

Trust, by pd lyons


I walk out with the horse,
She does not resist.

leads as if there’s not a diseased bone in her body.

 does not notice children crying,
rain stopping, sun brightening,
but rather a yellow butterfly –

moves her head
to keep it in sight
until for some reason she will never know,
 can no longer do so.



years ago worked for several intense years with a horse rescue rehab group in Connecticut. Sometimes there were happy endings, sometimes you had to let them go. the group is still there doing fine work for these beautiful creatures



The Humane Organization Representing Suffering Equines (H.O.R.S.E.) of Connecticut Inc., is a non-profit, 501(c)3 organization dedicated to the rescue and rehabilitation of abused and neglected horses. Over the past thirty years, H.O.R.S.E. has saved more than 650 lives. In addition to direct intervention, H.O.R.S.E. also maintains an ongoing commitment to educating the public regarding horse care.

Trust by pd lyons




I walk out
The horse does not resist.
Leads as if there’s not a diseased bone in her body.
Does not notice children crying,
Rain stopping sun brightening
But rather a yellow butterfly –
Moves her head to keep it in sight
Until for some reason she will never know,
Can no longer do so.



this was published by the now, non existent, no archive – The Calamity Jane on line. It was a side project of Caper Journal, Patasola Press which does have some archives while not active at this point. i would have written this in 1993 when i was working at a horse rescue rehab in Connecticut. They are still in existence and continue to do phenomenal work  – H.O.R.S.E. of Connecticut http://www.horseofct.org/








where now milk thistles still grow

i found them here first at 12 years old

each step a place where once i knew

now changed and no one to tell it to.









from Still Wishing To Be Ravens : Love Poem for Richard Brautigan 6.6.85

Love Poem for R.B.

Today I heard on the radio that Richard Brautigan

Killed himself last fall.

Then some girl who was 17 in 1970 read his Love Poem.

She said that her then lover was a DJ on a college

Station and had dedicated a recording of the poem

To her, over the air, before he disappeared in a

Californian direction.

Anyway, I don’t know where I was.

Maybe I was washing clothes or asleep even.

Maybe I was with Jenny or Eva or somebody.

I could a been drunk, or depressed

As if by some sort of intuition.

All I really know is that I’ll never know where I was

When he did it.

I wonder how he did it.

Maybe I should go down to the library look him

Up on the newspaper micro-film file?

Most likely I won’t though, the library is closed now

And I’m not sure I care that much anyway.

Besides it’s one of those details I’m sure will

Accidentally find its way to me.

It kinda pisses me off that he did it, I mean he

Wrote that Watermelon Sugar book, I read it years ago

When Mary gave it to me and I, 15 in 1970.

Watermelon Sugar and Mary my first lover go good together.

I don’t know about this suicide stuff though.

But maybe it’s nice not having to wake up alone with yourself

When you just don’t want to any more.


from: Still Wishing To be Ravens, new poems

by pd lyons

2009, Myo, Myo & Razooka

Winetown Castlepollard; Ireland

blue hydrangea

blue hydrangea


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