Do We Have The Right 3 parts from Bella & Shirley novel in progress by pd lyons

Is it right to hate them?

– We don’t need to hate them. We stop them. We put an end to it.

– Fear and suffering is twisted up in them.  They act as if they could get rid of it by giving it to someone else. As if torturing others will make them feel better. They must be stopped from doing this. We prevent them.

– Can we stop them?

– We will stop them. But not hate them. We’ll put them out of their own misery and stop the spreading of such misery.

Hate would only interfere with our efficiency.

c Mogan Lyons 2016

Do We Have the Right?

She sat beside me on the bed

took my hand

between my legs

against my resistance

softened, looked me in the eye

and for the first time softly called me Bella.

Bella  trust me.

close your eyes

observe whatever you think

whatever you feel

relax.

no matter what relax.

do not try to control.

observe relax allow

and I wept like I never did in my life

like I knew I never would again

there in her arms clinging like I don’t know what.

when I could,  finally looked up at her.

she softly spoke

So Bella. Now. Do we have the right?

Yes i said

And you? Bella,do you have the right?

And I could only breathless whisper

Yes.

~

I let her bring her mouth to mine

shared a breath as once more she whispered Bella

And with a kiss

lay me down into the luxury of a truly dreamless sleep.

yes what about love

Don’t need men.

What about children? – I joke

– (laughs) enough orphans in this world

– What about love?

– (silence) looks at me, leans towards me

eyes so black stops my breath

strokes my face with the back of her hand

warm strong dreamy

thoughtlessly I lean into it

something fine a silky electricity needles my spine

~

all I could do

was open my mouth

all I wanted to do was open my mouth

all I could do was all I wanted, 

to accept her own full mouth upon my own.

– ah she says, ah, yes; what- a-bout- love? syllable by syllable kisses until I no longer could count but only follow

excerpts from the poetic novel Bella & Shirley ~ a work in progress by PD Lyons

Justice without protection is oppression. ~ Bella

Currently I am working on transcribing notes from a story i started years ago. It sat around for years. always wanted to but never seemed to get it off and running. A few months back my daughter lent me one of the books she had read and loved, so I gave it a go. It was The Poet X  by Elizabeth Acevedo. It was a great read and for me a great inspiration. The Poet X is a novel done in wait for it ~ POETRY! And while my poetic novel is in no way related to the context of   Elizabeth Acevedo’s book, it does owe (for better or worse) its existence. If  i know one thing about myself it is that I am a poet not a novel writer. Remove the obstacle  and  the story returns to life. So no no longer a chore but a work of poetry separate related poems. I love writing poetry so here we go. In no particular order or reason I’ve selected these three to break the ice. A more orderly and story like posts will follow. Maybe some of you will like it? It takes more nerve than talent to be a writer …. The events take place in a modern first world civil war ~

 

It Was Tilkon From the Lady Camp

~ Bella after Shirley’s Death ~

It was Tilkon and the others from the lady camp

they were still alive

they were my women

our women

 felt the breath leave me in a heap

 felt the gag of my own aching body well up into tears like I never thought I’d weep again

 they were moving milling all around me

 I felt the ground give way, their voices farther and farther away

 

felt them holding me.

remove my weapons

 my gear

let myself be carried

 

they were alive

they were my women

our women

they were alive

 

they brought me to one of the tents

got me into one of the camp beds

and there were sheets

sun dried stiff

sheets

 so white

I had to close my eyes

so clean

I had to turn my head to better draw in their scent

~

And When I sleep now?

 

I sleep better because the screams in my dreams,

no longer those of women, girls, children,

but of perpetrators, savages, in-human pigs.

 

sometimes like when I am at the lady camp

and   can relax sure its Shirley comes to me,

lays beside me and melts that hardness from my heart.

 

But you know for all that ,

there are no ghosts  when I wake

 it’s the wet of my own tears,

the state of my own being.

Knowing.

~

So, it’s not about brutality,

 

don’t talk to me of being numb.

 don’t tell me about being heartless.

 I hunt the in-human.

I teach others to hunt

to protect themselves and all those who are all too human.

It’s not about hate,

it’s not about brutality –

it’s about protection the protection of all who are human.

Justice without protection is oppression.

 

she thought they would be safe, from Bella and Shirley by pd lyons

– she thought they would be safe.

told them that they were supporters, that her older son

was in their army.

sure they said and shoved her, sure then we’ll be gentle.

her youngest son they shot for coming to her aid.

they tied her to the bed post while they did things to her daughter.

then they shot the daughter to death as well.

when we found her she had torn her wrists bloody trying to get free.

She says:

These are not my hands

They do not belong to me.

These are the hands that did not save my children.

She begs us to chop them off

We have to always have someone with her otherwise she tears off the bandages with her teeth.

 

The woman would speak only in whispers and leaned into Tilkon

– Oh Tilkon said, ah she wants to give you something

meaning Shirley

 

The woman reached into a canvass bag she’d carried slung across her chest

fumbling, needed help

one of the younger girls who had been her watcher assisted

whispering

– are you sure? asked the girl

and the woman nodded

so she handed Shirley the news paper wrapped object.

– it is a shirt . the girl explained. it was for her son.

more whispers

– she thinks it will fit you said the girl,

she wants you to have it.

she made it for her son.

she says yours has too much blood.

Shirley opens the packages.

– thank you she says, thank you for this kindness. gives it to me to hold while she pulls off her bloodied old shirt and puts on the new denim blue carefully fastening each riveted button.

 

Before we can do anything else the woman, fumbles in the bag again

– Wait she says wait she says out loud in her own voice.

shes pulled out a photograph. rushes up to Shirley

– Here she says her this is my boy, my son, my only child. look

he is not like them

he is no animal

please if you see him

please do not kill him

please his mother loves him tell him

please he is a good boy he would never do such things she waves her arms

across the dead woman across the tied and dying naked man…

 

Shirley takes the photo

– yes i will remember him. i will promise.

shows me the photo as well

– yes i say, yes i too will promise.

 

– take the picture back. Shirley says. We will remember, we wont forget.

the woman smiles,

– I know she says . I know.

wipes the tears from her face with her bandaged wrists, turns away comforted by the young girl .

 

 

heading to the lady camp from Bella & Shirley by pd lyons

(lady camp)

up in the highlands. a small camp once used by shepherds. there was a clean water source and not much more when we started but now? three small cabins, latrines, cooking fires. Do you now there is a way to make a smokeless fire?

really! i said.

they help each other. whatever one knows is what one does. and for those who didn’t know much, look outs were always needed besides a mind sharpened by the promise of safety and food learns quick. there are even a few men. good men. not always someone’s relation but men who had helped or tried to help. men who had proven themselves. one fellow was an expert with  noiseless ways of trapping animals. there are also some very good fisher ladies she laughed. we live like savages but honest savages. there are things to eat from the wilderness. there are people who can listen to any story and be your sister when you’re done. For the most part we get on . Even the men seem able to keep themselves in line. word gets around and she nodded towards the screaming fellow. there is a vow of no romance until this madness ends.

– you think it will? end? asks Shirley

– I don’t know she answers even lower. But if we don’t conduct ourselves like it will, then we’ll just tear and be torn apart .

Why don’t you come? We should leave soon I’m thinking. You should see the place.

– I’m not sure said Shirley, looking over to me surprisingly demure …We do have business.

– Business?

– You know, things to do.

– Yes she said I know. I know the things you do. It is a business that needs doing. But what we do is good too. Besides there will still be plenty for you to do when you leave us.

you’ll be surprised by how many of our ladies you might know…. I can tell you there are many who’ll never forget you. Anyway I’ll promise to have someone show you, how to make that smokeless fire.

night wood

(So We Went)

pig! your screams are music to our ears, from Bella & Shirley by pd lyons

 

pig! your screams are music to our ears.

they had found him still alive.

they had pulled off all his clothes and the clothes of the dead men too

piled some of the filthy rags on his lap.

they had cleaned the corpse of the woman,

laid on branches of evergreen

bruises and broken skin

a few feet from where he was tied to the tree.

they had taken the rag away from his mouth

they had set the nest of rags on his lap on fire

slow smoldering greasy fire

every once in a while when some bit for some reason burned brighter

or faster the heat would make him scream.

there were a half a dozen women around him.

the youngest maybe 15? the eldest – a tuff old grandmother who spat

when she said again

– Pig! Scream go on scream it is music to us!

she came to speak with us….

and in speaking with us she spoke so all could hear

to thank us

to say she did not know the dead woman

to say that it was good for the younger ones

that we had left this Pig alive

so they could see

so they could know

no matter how much guns

no matter how much cruelty

they scream like broken animals

animals broken by the strength of women.

then more quiet she explained where they were headed…

We Made our Way from Bella & Shirley by PD Lyons

 

We Made our Way

deliberately slow through the wood towards the road

– ping ping ping

the noise paused us

– what is that?

– shh

then men, laughter spitting gutter sounds.

then we saw them.

– pig ping ping

then we saw her.

– ping ping

naked bloodied the woman held the steel lamp pole

slamming her forehead into it

– ping

– ping

– ping

I raised my weapon.

lightly Shirley lays her hand on it, a sign for quiet.

~

in various sates the men

fixing their clothes

gathering their weapons

kicking away empty bottles

arguing over those not yet empty.

eventually ambling away

paid no heed to the woman

spilled too,

a heap of silence at the base of a metal pole.

~

Once the men move on , out of sight, and sound

I look to Shirley

– “She is better off now. Come. Let’s go.”

so I follow

we angle off to the edge of the road

where we briefly wait

then cross.

~

the woman was indeed dead

it is hard, to see such things.

But we look.

We always look.

We were witness.

We were the last human contact.

I squat touched her naked still warm shoulder then stand

while Shirley rolls the body over making sure the eyes are closed.

Touches lips to the palm of her hand

to lay her kiss on the woman’s forehead .

– “No time for more.” She stands. Looks down the road – “We’ll follow.”

So we did.

Do We Have The Right 3 parts from Bella & Shirley by pd lyons

Is it right to hate them?

– We don’t need to hate them. We stop them. We put an end to it.

– Fear and suffering is twisted up in them.  They act as if they could get rid of it by giving it to someone else. As if torturing others will make them feel better. They must be stopped from doing this. We prevent them.

– Can we stop them?

– We will stop them. But not hate them. We’ll put them out of their own misery and stop the spreading of such misery.

Hate would only interfere with our efficiency.

c Mogan Lyons 2016

Do We Have the Right?

She sat beside me on the bed

took my hand

between my legs

against my resistance

softened, looked me in the eye

and for the first time softly called me Bella.

Bella  trust me.

close your eyes

observe whatever you think

whatever you feel

relax.

no matter what relax.

do not try to control.

observe relax allow

and I wept like I never did in my life

like I knew I never would again

there in her arms clinging like I don’t know what.

when I could,  finally looked up at her.

she softly spoke

So Bella. Now. Do we have the right?

Yes i said

And you? Bella,do you have the right?

And I could only breathless whisper

Yes.

~

I let her bring her mouth to mine

shared a breath as once more she whispered Bella

And with a kiss

lay me down into the luxury of a truly dreamless sleep.

yes what about love

Don’t need men.

What about children? – I joke

– (laughs) enough orphans in this world

– What about love?

– (silence) looks at me, leans towards me

eyes so black stops my breath

strokes my face with the back of her hand

warm strong dreamy

thoughtlessly I lean into it

something fine a silky electricity needles my spine

~

all I could do

was open my mouth

all I wanted to do was open my mouth

all I could do was all I wanted, 

to accept her own full mouth upon my own.

– ah she says, ah, yes; what- a-bout- love? syllable by syllable kisses until I no longer could count but only follow

new fiction blog by pd lyons

Pd Lyons

New Blog Pd salamanders a fiction

a coming of age drama of the 70’s & 80’s. trials and emotional trauma of teenage artist/writer in small town new england.

http://pdlyons-salamandersafiction.blogspot.com/

ocassioned by bad words and sexual stuff – protect yourselves accordingly

salamanders a fiction

pdlyons-salamandersafiction.blogspot.com

a coming of age drama of the 70’s & 80’s. trials and emotional trauma of teenage artist/writer in small town new england.