Category Archive: photo

Highway poetry

Highway poetry-short poems A Poem by Coyote Poetry Just words                            Wander or slowly die She was so beautiful, she moved like a wild and free animal. I knew she was untamed and lusted… Continue reading

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The liar’s moon

Liar’s moon A Poem by Coyote Poetry Some new words.                       The liar’s moon The Coyote was quiet tonight, tranquil night allowed him to recede… Continue reading

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“The disease”

The DISEASE     Two strangers sat together in the Austin, Texas Jazz club. Discussing things that didn’t matter anymore.   The woman looked at the man. She told him. “I was once… Continue reading

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Almost to California

 Almost to California. My Boston girl, I found her at Fort lee, Virginia in the Winter of 1976. She were waited for a love who forsaken you. I made her drink the sweet… Continue reading

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The war, the blood and the gun.

The war, the blood and the gun No-one is screaming for the child of war. They have known only blood and the sound of war. Who do we blame my friend? War is… Continue reading

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The value of one life

The value of one life Men in offices, in Washington D.C. Screaming out, kill, fight and murder those son of bitches. They are the enemy? ———————————————————————————————————- Maybe the enemy are with-in the walls.… Continue reading

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I never left Michigan

Never left Michigan   Years ago. I traveled  the  world. I Drank wine in Basel and Paris, danced in the streets of Florence and read poetry at Hyde Park in London.   I… Continue reading

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Somewhere in time

Nydia Lozano Somewhere in time   The paradox of living, we get what we deserve. Once, the prettiest lady I have ever known, waited for a wayward man. I remember the fragrance of… Continue reading

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Sweet hello and deadly goodbye

Sweet hello and deadly goodbye       Hello dear Brigitte. I still remember us. You were my brightness on the a sunny days and the light of hope in the mist of… Continue reading

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“Drunk man calling”

Drunk man calling   A Poem by Coyote Poetry Funny how we remember faces and places when alcohol open the door to memories.        Drunk man calling It is 3 am in the morning.… Continue reading

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