Tag Archives: murder

Shirley: Back Story As Told To Bella, part one by pd lyons





10 days maybe a few weeks   after my capture? housed with the other prisoners from various units. not many of us 12? 15?  my luck had held. our captors did not know I was not the young boy they thought me.

it was not pleasant but nothing torturous. we were fed crap food, slept on hard earth floor, not many blankets n such. we might have been shoved on occasion, but mostly they mocked us, jeered us in broken language

So now observers have you enjoyed your trip?

Did you see what you wanted?

Don’t worry we still have sights for you don’t we …

and they would laugh.

eventually the tempo seemed to increase, the shoves turned to occasional slaps or spitting or tripping or a kick. I was lucky enough to be nimble but was more uncomfortable with the rough seduction attention paid to me –

beautiful boy, fine young fellow,

remarks about the smoothness of my skin –

that made me feel ill.

one morning earlier than usual, the sun rise hardly bringing colour to the sky, we were roughly called to attention.

Marched out one by one single file

For a moment I thought, this is it. But out in the yards well covered by the weapons of our guards we were each handed a dirt shovel herded up onto the flat bed of a truck.

we were driven a for miles

the country side

old pasture ground

circled by woodland.

we disembarked, well aware of much activity around us.

other trucks


some in uniform

some not

all with weapons and belts of ammo.

we were told –

now observers you will see.

come on move.

we were brought to where there were great slopes of fresh dug earth

equally mounds of whitish sand or maybe powder,

past which a long ditch.

my stomach churned

I knew this was death.

other trucks covered in canvas arrived. stopping in the distance. Backed toward our direction. Some of the men form lines parallel to each other at the backs of the trucks. Others I’d say about 20 stood nearer the pit by us. Then the back of truck was opened. Men women children pushed dragged thrown –

beaten between the lines of waiting men

run you fuckers! run!

clothes grabbed torn, some naked by the time they were lined up in small groups. Then facing the ditch

immediately shot by the soldiers who had been waiting near to us.

a whole truck load maybe 30 maybe 40 done like that.

now observers something to see yeah.

now shovel! shovel! or you next.

we were to shovel layer of white then layer of earth. my group on one end another group at other end.

once done another truck was emptied. beaten naked people shot . again we’d shovel. I had been trained to be a soldier; I had been trained to kill in official and non-official capacity but this…

I could not breath I could not think.

scorpion night 9 pd lyons

scorpion night 9 pd lyons




i don’t think we should forget about Charleston south Carolina. i don’t think we should just let this one go. another poor boy off his meds another gun that didn’t kill,l another non racial murder spree. i think we should say lets sue some mfers. i think that churches and places of worship should be terror free. i think the sate whatever state should be responsible for giving people and provide for its citizens a reasonable expectation of safety. i think black people including the black president should be screaming and demanding appropriate action. i think Christians should be pissed that their religion is hijacked by terrorists and that they have been attacked by not only this person but by many of the republican party. if you don’t stop bullying, if you do not complain in the loudest legalist way then you get this kind of stuff over and over. America has been hijacked – who wants to take it back? I think that people of all races creeds and whatever who don’t agree with racial terror of any kind should be complaining and filing and calling and writing letters. do what you can do. don’t do nothing because you think you can’t do everything.


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 – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Outlaw_Bible_of_American_Poetry


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. www.nortonpoets.com.

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]



my computer is stupid – the word files wont let me work, can’t high light anything – it scrolls all the way to the f/n end.

I’m stupid for not knowing how to fix it.

broadband is stupid runs like crap and i was stupid enough to sign up for it.

my old computer is really stupid because it worked just the way i wanted and needed but it decides to go blank randomly for no diagnosable reason.

having the whole day to work is stupid cause i didn’t get anything done.


not to mention the newspapers – how stupid was that to read them in the first place?

stupid politicians elected by who?

stupid murderers making money for the totally unstupid lawyers

stupid Exxon oil monopoly still wanting more, still wanting to bring oil from Canada via pipeline to refineries in the gulf of Mexico – how stupid? hundreds of miles of potential disaster pipes go under major aquifers, to be brought to the gulf where have we not noticed the issue with oil in the gulf of Mexico yet? also the oil is one of the most environmentally unfriendly extracted oils in the world – from tar sands –

but only stupid – do you know how long a person with half a mind could write about stupid?

stupid thinking there’s a reason to, I’m not going to answer that.

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