“Last chance saloon”
Last chance saloon I was the Monday night closer manager at the Purgatory Inn. I was counting the money and a pretty lady was waiting for me. I watched her roll her cigarette… Continue reading
Last chance saloon I was the Monday night closer manager at the Purgatory Inn. I was counting the money and a pretty lady was waiting for me. I watched her roll her cigarette… Continue reading
Lady of the lake ——————————————————————————————- We loved the weeping willows trees by the lake, we loved the month of July and August. Once I wanted death and my lady of the lake, whispered… Continue reading
November thoughts Once I needed everything and I learned. Everything wasn’t needed. November is coming and the cooler and slower days I do love. I am in the November of my life.… Continue reading
If I had magic Johnnie walked the California Fault line alone. Looking for a ancient and holy place. The desert mountain hard and her natural beauty. Perfect place to hide wishing wells and… Continue reading
My Winter love A Poem by Coyote Poetry Cold days seem to bring people closer. My Winter love. I whispered your sweet name in the twilight of the midnight hours. My sweet… Continue reading
Silence We fall together into the midnight hours and we allowed the silence of the long night to hold deep embrace. Old lovers like us, don’t need words. We need tender caress and… Continue reading
The rising sun I sat in the New Orleans in 1996. I liked New Orleans. Hard time and hard days couldn’t kill her spirit. I drank whiskey with old men and pretty women.… Continue reading
Dear October Hello dear October, my old friend. Cooler day and the beauty of the change of color, of the trees. Allow us to slow down and ponder who we are, where… Continue reading
The Raven and the Coyote A Story by Coyote Poetry A story. Some of my Ojibwa heritage coming out. The Raven and the Coyote The Raven watched the moon. Her interest awoken by… Continue reading
Utopia of the pen and the paper. A Poem by Coyote Poetry Last freedom is the mind. Can’t control the mind completely. Always hope hiding somewhere. Utopia of the pen and the paper.… Continue reading