Tag Archives: sex

Re: Poets

“He repeated until his dying day that there was no one with more common sense, no stone cutter more obstinate, no manager more lucid or dangerous, than a poet.”
                                                              ― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez



25.3.11 ruff by pd lyons




today out on the veranda of all gone away youth whiskered timber dreams woke another coffee



you wouldn’t have to wait for anything to boot up

turn on or upload you could just sit down

bang away royal keys upon a cotton rag of water marked paper


you wouldn’t have to settle for crap wine, Bordeaux châteaux

would be easily accessible even to a low level pot dealer


you could get a soft pack of Marlboro that tasted good – better than the hard pack in the days before anyone even thought of lights

 the rent was 180 for five big rooms a laundry room full bath including heat and utilities


 you could sit on the second floor back porch blow a joint in broad daylight watch some old ginger tom prowl around some inner city orange rose bush while the most beautiful girl you thought you’d ever know sat on your lap  your hands finding ways to make her melt underneath her long gypsy soul skirt.





girls go by to boys that somehow remind you to your own self except instead of love they sell schemes and plans and how to maximize income and output and the most beautiful girl in the place gives her precious attention to someone who won’t even make her come, too busy trying to sell her something that she won’t ever need on her death bed.




don’t know what the reasons for the way we are is

don’t know how we got to be so far away from where we were

but there’s a time a  place for everything

there’s a never ending ever changing way of everything

so they say and who are they for us to disbelieve when we can see it in our selves
we cross the street together out of step we walk up stairs without noticing our own eyes

we can’t get on because all we want is something we remember way back there





so much can happen when we live long enough

so many things we thought were no possible could have come to pass

but not believing in the future

did we not live grandly in the past?


my mother wanted things for me I did not believe in

my father wanted me to somehow not be a worry

my regret is only that being so inarticulate I could not explain

how I could love them but not want to ever become them



cannot manage this consistency too well

I know your chimes of freedom flashing

I am the outlaw child of all these blue collar working class heroes

I am not them but am eternally grateful to them

all they gave of their own unrequited youth so that I could be the rebel born

and I will not forget you and I will not neglect you

and I will raise your soft n hidden heart to my own pure unbridled lips

my kisses unconcerned with the blood of my mother and my father

I will cherish your suffering transformation into peace.



whatever went winkingly down the stairs clinkily

open and wondering wounded and proud

never more thinkingly would she be drinkingly

 out on the balcony summers no more




how many times have I thought to see you there?

after all these years – damn near 40

don’t I still imagine; come down the wooded path way bend

  by that pond you’re somehow  there


ghosts haunt the places that the living know

it has nothing to do with where they died

ghosts haunt this place where I grew up

where I first saw you naked

 and you broke my heart open before I even knew I’d love you


I know I won’t ever see you now

but if promises can be made to ghosts

then someday soon I’ll meet you here again

golden apples silver apples

pine needles on a summer day patch of grass back by the old turtle pond




today I do not want backward

I know there is no such thing as then or later

 and now’s so fleeting it hardly exists


I know the moon

calls me on the road of no stone no sand no steps



mix medi m&p lyons a




mix media collage with crayon m&p lyons



mix media collage with carpet m&p lyons

As Long As There Is Silence, poetry by pd Lyons (revised)

what could I give you, for your own?

but that is something no one else can know
or give another.
I can make you hunger
but only you can
give it.
only you could know it.
nothing really to do with me.

that is something I could look you in the eye with.
I could make you cringe.
but that is something you would
never do.
hit back,
yell back,
run away.
a thing only for everyone else to share.

maybe something with ink?
a series of needles
piercing colours
well chose by yourself.
images of meaning
secretly placed in hard for me to reach places.

accompanied perhaps by steel?
pure, stainless,
holding other holes
open for future explorations.
how busy will I then become?
new places
usual spaces
and wherever else could I get lost in you?

what could I give you for your own?
whatever have I always done?
your own cum,
my own tongue,
whatever else you love
as long as there is silence.



Sometimes there is that love between two people. You know the kind.  No matter what you give or do for the other, it becomes a gift to yourself. Its that kind. You know. That’s what this one is about.

as long as there is silence by pd lyons




what could I give you

for your own


but that is something no one else can know

or give another

I can make you hunger

but only you can

give it

only you could know it

nothing really to do with me


that is something I could look you in the eye with

I could make you cringe

but that is something you would

never do

hit back

yell back run away

a thing only for everyone

else to share

maybe something with ink

a series of needles piercing colours

well chose by yourself

images of meaning

secretly placed in hard to reach with my tongue places

accompanied by steel?

pure stainless holding other holes

open for future explorations

how busy will my tongue become?

new places and the usual spaces

and what ever else could I get lost with in you?

what could I give you for your own?

what ever I have always done

your own cum

my own tongue

whatever else you love

as long as there is silence






The Disappeared by pd lyons ( Calliope Nerve Version )



The Disappeared

Along the lane
Straight down as rain
Without wind
Without sound
Wrapped in briar vines
Emerging posts of bone
As if some ancient mariner
Draws me in a secret un-gloved caress.
I wanted to keep you for myself.
I wanted you to stay, because you went.
But the police,
After further questioning
Came up with ideas all their own
And in so doing, made contact with
The families of the disappeared.
To men in long wrinkled coats, they speak,
A fog of voices drifting apart,
Before reaching any type of destination.
Taking turns, cast looks around,
As if this really were sea
And answers like shoals of silver fishes lurk
Just beneath the surface.
Careful. Pretending not to notice
How each movement flickers in the lights
As if this really were all some cinematic image
Screened with no one but the actors in the audience.
Their silence magnifies only certain sounds:
Elastic latex snap,
Slicing shovel slaps,
Unsteady cigarette sighs,
Plastic, almost echo, abruptly ending zip.
Believing their expectations to be accurate predictions
They came for something clear and full of meaning,
Something settling and complete,
To find, as if some great surprise,
Only the obvious inescapably revealed.
Unlike them I know you not by what you’ve lost,
But rather by what you’ve brought back.
It was that which drew me
In secret un-gloved caress
And now plays out
Along the landscapes of my every night
And haunts my every morning with regret.
I wanted to touch that forbidden you again.
To trace upon that more secret map
Etched, invisible to the naked eye,
Every line of your journey.
To put my lips to you,
Circling with the tip of my tongue,
So that I’d know, everything.
I wanted to sift your powder through my fingers,
Into that coloured jar covered with a brass cap,
Tucked into my bedside drawer,
Sprinkled, whenever I wanted,
Not just as some aphrodisiac
Or good luck charm across my bed
But so, engendered with bodily fluids
You’d take on some other life
And I’d find out,
Just exactly, what it was, that I’d be thinking
As I lay there in the dust
Of the disappeared.




this version originally published by Muse Thing: The Calliope Nerve http://calliopenerve.blogspot.ie/search/label/PD%20Lyons



this was published in 2010 by another cool named yet now defunct blog zine. the archives are still “live” on line. you would find a great many darker artists represented there. the editor was very kind to me and of course many others. the poem has to do with what it says which unfortunately is a rather world-wide theme although it does have an Irish slant; so i think that’s enough said. it was probably written in 1998 or so when i had first moved from the USA to Ireland. we were living in an old two-story farm-house in county Cavan, a bit in the middle of no where – our nearest neighbours were the cattle in the fields and the crows nesting in the giant yew trees.


may all who journey remember


Re: Poets

“He repeated until his dying day that there was no one with more common sense, no stone cutter more obstinate, no manager more lucid or dangerous, than a poet.”
                                                              ― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez



Fiction By PDLyons







Contains adult themes of sexual and terrible words of English language as well as swear words and a possibility of lions and tigers and bears – oh my! And if that were not enough then beware of cigarette smoking and the taking of substances for the mere sake of pleasure and fun.

Not Fit For Puritan Ethic Award

pd lyons newest collection is now available!!

Rumours of Another Summer

Authored by PD Lyons

Modern Irish American poetry of a very fine sort

Publication Date:
Jul 27 2011
1463769288 / 9781463769284
Page Count:
Binding Type:
US Trade Paper
Trim Size:
6″ x 9″
Black and White
Related Categories:
Literary Collections / English, Irish, Scottish, Welsh



Rumours of Another Summer
List Price: $10.00


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