Tag Archives: railroad

Ruff, by pd lyons

navan, co. meath

navan, co. meath

unclaimed freight
railway warehouse bones
alive by eyes too dry to move
razor wired empty
protected rooftops
from no one who’d ever want to trespass




Now Safe In Snug Harbour, by pd lyons

Now Safe In Snug Harbour

Think there is nothing left because
Things are not they way they were?
I have shouted at the city-blocked midnight
Danced fence post crooked side walked racially slurred neighbourhoods
Found my way past numerous boot strap bras soft slung underwear
Love named and nameless roof tops vestibules pine wood parked cars basements garages around the corner from some bar
All long railroads of dreams no longer gleaming dull rust into misuse

What is this pulse less thing?
Where is the pushing through my blood?
Undeniable maniacal all experience worth while
How failing of words to name you muse?

Once I belonged to your ancient word
Once midnight meant something swinging at the park
Shouting strings continuous words
Stars  sky earth and bug sounds
Hardly known girl beside me
Waiting supplicant for the dew that would soon cover us
Cold reservoir air upon one another
Our open mouths another universe.

And days or nights never mattered
Hit by shrapnel amphetamine opiate subduction
Elegantly by psychedelics led

Behind whatever it is things have become?
Oh these things were meat for you
All this was blessed for words by you
And I needed to know nothing because all newness was all sacred.


Tears of lovers in the dark
Knowing soon that we would part
No longer see another day
The way we were
Now so far away

All my instruments pointed
All my solitude true
It was not to other lovers
No mortal could compare
No substance base, mercurial,
Nothing compared to you.

I could not understand factories of men and beer




Box Set by pd lyons


Box Set

Stopped in the library
Wandered around while I waited for Morgan to be ready.
Picked up a set of Kerouac CD’s
Poetry I never knew before.

Later back at home
Read the liner notes
Small town
Factories gone
Smoke n drink
A loner dedicated to the written word
Inter-racional national vagrant
Working class lover

It was pretty scary stuff.

Put one on.
Sat down at the kitchen table with a cuppa
Got up washed dishes
Clean counters
Sat down poured another cup
Thought, well I like the energy, the piano, the urgent lone ranger
Plugged into by the muse trying to express every electrical inch
But I don’t think I really got it
Which came as a relief because after all I was quite happy to still be purely me.





this version was published by

Railroad Poetry Project Manifesto   issues 2. 2011-12. they were a blog-zine. apparently no longer in existance not even as archival form. so i guess this and the two others they were kind enough to accept are now “unpublished original work”. was never a big Kerouac fan. just never really got it. i think he might have been a part of a necessary element to progress, in particular american lit. But give me Henry Miller or Bukowski any day – in my humble opinion. dont get me wrong i can relate to him personaly in some aspects. i was born in a small new England mill town, i loved the streets and had many a bizarre adventure on the road … 

As If The Rain by pd lyons from The Women Retrospect


As If The Rain

Emily Dickinson used to sneak out.

Sometimes in day light, mostly at night.

Tip toeing carefully down the back stairs

Even though nobody else was there.

Always a hat a shawl or a veil

To keep the neighbours off her trail.

Walking along the streets of the town

Glimpses her reflection among dry goods and gowns

And in the shop she has been seeking makes her purchase from a little man who has always honoured their agreement

And never Miss Emily’s secrets revealed.

Bag of tobacco, skins and matches snapped up in her bag.

While wrapped in brown paper knotted with string – a bottle of port

tucks under her wing.

Emily Dickinson used to sneak out.

Later that night she did it again.

Carefully tip toeing down the back stair

Even though nobody else was there.

Making her way out to the train station,

Counting the stars as she sat on the bench,

Named new constellations while she was waiting.

A shudder of sighs defined by an overcoat of stains

he sits down beside her.

Rodent hands desperate in deep dead end pockets

Until, rusty knife retrieved by one opened by the other

String and paper, slit and peeled

Turbulent mouth not spilling a drop.

Until eased back against the slats.

Things he knows he tells her ~

Crossing the country by freight. Tin can meals around a fire.

Men who only knew for certain that they’d not meet again.

Bones broken by horses. Bayonets emerging from a fog.

What it’s like on the other side of the ocean.

Names of young girls, young men.

Who might be living? Who might be dead?

And sometimes, only warm smoke shapes between them linger

As if the rain would never come again on a Tuesday night in Amherst…


Wrote this in the late nineties.  Sent it off with a few others to a small Irish poetry magazine called Brobdingnagian Press (if i remember correctly) the pun was that each issue was one sheet of broad sheet paper with small poems printed all over it. Any way this was much too long for it although the editor was kind enough to accept one or two of the shorts. The embarrassing part was that while he appreciated the Amherst poem, being an aficionado of Emily, he did suggest that i might want to spell her last name correctly when sending to other editors.

anyway we had a bit of a laugh over that, Em and I and then went down to the waterfront. it was autumn and a storm was heading in….

a version of this poem appeared in The Yes Factory first issue 2012  https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B58yt4q1_WOpenRMa3RCczVqMlE/edit?pli=1


north to rome – by pd lyons from Morning Movies


we took the train north to Rome
started with sweat and bullets
wishing for a better meal next stop
village by village dust bells along
following the steady steel rhythm

hours drift lulling with common motion
 landscapes we have come to know
keep pace as we imagined
being closer than we ever were
before leaving

Reggio Calabria



excellent quality magazine well worth the read



railroad poetry project/ why we like them –



Dear P D Lyons,

Many thanks for reaching out. As you know I am a big fan of your poetry.

We would be happy to include ‘Box Set’ ‘The Factories Of Men And Beer’ and ‘Grandview Avenue’ in issue 2.

Please could you let me know which links you would like us to plug and also send over a short bio. We are all about helping poets get the recognition they deserve.

One more thing, could you just verify something for me. In ‘Box Set’ a line reads ‘Inter racional national vagrant’ could you just confirm that this is exactly how you intend it to read.

Once again, many thanks for getting involved.

J.L Willetts – editor


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