Tag Archives: ruff draft

Joyce Day




maybe there is this kitchen, random on the spot by pd lyons

theres no place left to walk

there no where ever to go

and whatever might need doing

sure it’ll just get un done


so maybe there is this kitchen

maybe the coffees ready

and all the sun that hasn’t shined

decides to forget about winter and

hang around these windows instead


what could i do to tell you

what could i say to show you

one day when we were not yet old

didn’t we have so many things to do

and despite all that busy we still found out who we were


but now at the end of music

now close to the end of time

now that i’m just on my own

seems like loneliness is ok

some new girl on the stereo

reminding me

a few minutes

to remember

a few minutes beyond regret

you and me

once young

once upon a time

maybe you ‘ll come by

before its too far gone today

i’ll put more coffee on

i’ll share these new tunes with you

and the sun will smile even brighter

or maybe its just me

a bunch of yellow flowers in a jug

a sink of dirty dishes

an old pointer dog greeting you with what was silent tail wag




winter anyway, a love poem by pd lyons


used to walk by trees like these

a country where winter meant deep snow
wind sometimes cut  wounds like a smile across my face

a great breathless
no-doubt-about-being alive-rush  deep New England winter


Made my way to some place I knew existed then,

slight shelter from the gale

flick and fumble

eventually light
sacramental cigarette

to the east, to the south, to the west, to the north, as above so below,
as within, so with out, on the smoke that is my prayer…

and somehow all I could do was say thank you –
for this snow,
this wind,
this gunmetal sky,
this bit of shelter crook of a stone wall
this cold, cold, cold against the small heat of my beating heart



working on shadows stuff – ruff

mix media by morgan lyons

mix media by morgan lyons

shadow of crows
flying from the tree
disappearing behind me to the sky

she had crystals hanging in nearly every window of the house
purified energy – coming in, going out

Mystic Connecticut, the town not the sea port
she bought me one for my car
that little shop just by the draw bridge

had it for years, hung from the rear view mirror one car to another to another

I’ve no idea where it is now though
or how I came to part with it
disappeared maybe it’s with that lock of her hair she gave me?
actually a braid cut from her first hair cut
when she was… maybe late twenty’s
Called me a stupid jerk when she found out I’d lost it

Another shadow; like crows, like Connecticut, like herself
disappearing behind me to the sky

mix media by morgan lyons




sometimes in this writing life #4 today, by pd lyons

pd lyons photography


no matter how many eloquences

no matter how many times I tell it

no one will ever get

how the sun across the oak kitchen writing table slants

through occasional swirls of steel black snow clouds

wind off the lakes swiping all manner of parachuters

slow strobes effect the  blue willow black just ground coffee

hot rocking rolling stones Wednesdays accidental 11’s



this one i just wrote ruff onto the blog post. I am /was just getting ready to work, coffee and the stones kinda writing and i thought why not get the blog post done. By way of explanation to some, 11’s or elevenses it a term for a short break from a 9-5 work day, usually at 11 am. In the states we might just say coffee break. Hot Rocks 1964–1971 is the first compilation album of Rolling Stones    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hot_Rocks_1964%E2%80%931971


stop messing around and get to work


and would I know

the winter

still sliding down

silvering the window

soft whispers

smoke secrets


the kitchen fire

and all those winter fires gone before

each ghost arrives upon the gale

welcomed here beside the hearth

each breath of my own

rare and gifted by such drifters

visible only in the smoke

audible only in the flame

I am never alone in winter

I am sending my own messages

tobaccos scented

whisky scented

seemingly pleasing

soon like crows

I will go

ruff/ on decorating the new apt

DSC_3504i dont want to talk to you

maybe show you maybe not

little more to the left but not really so close as all that

morning when the door knocked open

let no one enter without waking me

barefoot naked knife in hand

out the back three flights down

running i almost followed

almost let the dog go

But by then he was gone.

little more to the right but not as close as all that

night arguing about something

and where was the dog

what did he do

the fuckin dog

didnt you really mean

why didnt i do something

equally raging i wanted to know

why didnt you do something

why didnt you make it different

he came back right

but by then you left



along and like


where and why gone

like ghosted and missing you

but not anything known

hours like rivering


moonlessly pass

this morning

this morning of streets

emptier than anything from my

deepest darkest youth.

not even a beggar to drop a coin to

not even a reason to unlock the doors

useless to lock anyway.

Ambrose comes

so I open the side door

he tells me about darkness and men so scared

that only by killing and striving to not be killed

by one another can they bear it.

I pour hot black coffee into the cup

cupped by his hands a browner porcelain of prayer

as are my own.

on little creaky chairs

face to face cups raised to our audible lips

ahh in unison as the hot bitter caffeine

rewards us another day.

I get up and from behind the counter

bring small tin box

knee to knee we look in

and share the same ingrained thought:

but it is forbidden.

then broadly smiling,

we two grown men

each take out a cigarette.

we have silence

we have soft grey light through shuddered windows

we have no need of heat yet

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