Monthly Archive: September, 2025

Purgatory Inn and no place to go.

Purgatory Inn and no place to go… I have the long Island ice tea fresh and cold.Bartender keep them coming.They love the big tippers.Purgatory Inn is open early and closes late.Safe place for… Continue reading

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A wing and a prayer.

A wing and a prayer.. He told the Lake St. Clair. We become, who suppose become. Hell-bound life can lead us to place of peace. He told the lady of the lake. Kind… Continue reading

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The lovely silence.

The lovely silence.. The real poets and writers know. The silence is golden. Words become meaningless in the midnight hours.  True lovers don’t need to speak. They allow their mouth, hands and body… Continue reading

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A Jazzy Tuesday. Just a Black Velvet lullaby.

Just a Black Velvet lullaby… I wrote to a old journal in a Austin, Texas tavern in 1993. The poet don’t cry, he just write some more. Hemingway told us, we, who love… Continue reading

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A whiskey and a glass of water.

A whiskey and a glass of water… She gave me whiskey kisses and we danced the Texas two-step till the witches hours. She was a bad, bad woman and I wanted more and… Continue reading

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I still miss you.

Dear Bridgette. I still miss you… 1- Dear Bridgette, you saved me once on a September day.Your soft voice and gentle heart calmed the rage of a man, drowning in rage.You held my… Continue reading

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Your face.

Your face… I brought her close and I told her. Honey, you will be alright. We will figure something out. Her eyes were less sad now and she told me. Thank you Johnnie… Continue reading

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Jazzy Monday and some words.

Sleepless nights. You and me, me and you. We love the Jazzy songs, slow dancing bare-ass for the midnight moon and making love till noon. You are my coffee mornings, my Lone Islands… Continue reading

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Dead flowers. Written and verbal poetry.

Dead flowers.. I came to you with some Tennessee whiskey and a small plant with rosemary trying to grow. I sat on your porch, waiting for you. I wanted to see your morning face,… Continue reading

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Looking for my Agnes.

Looking for my Agnes.. Hemingway wrote of his Agnes. A love, who saved him and left him. Hemingway learn. Love in war, just gifts of the survivors. We must go home. Took J.… Continue reading

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