Luciana Zogbi. A amazing voice
I heard your song Muse, honored songstress. Sing the song. Writers write. Painters paint. Dancer must dance. We need song, words and beauty. Utopia my friend is simple. Need beautiful… Continue reading
I heard your song Muse, honored songstress. Sing the song. Writers write. Painters paint. Dancer must dance. We need song, words and beauty. Utopia my friend is simple. Need beautiful… Continue reading
Fire, the flames and you A Poem by Coyote Poetry Some people can inflame us. Fire, the flames and you You are my river of joy. My muse in the mist of confusion.… Continue reading
Don’t look for things you don’t want to find. A Poem by Coyote Poetry When nonfiction feel like fiction. You have seen too much. Don’t look for things you don’t want to… Continue reading
Don’t make me sad. Don’t make me cry. A Poem by Coyote Poetry We need good song. We need good times and laughter. Life moved too quickly. Don’t make me sad. Don’t make… Continue reading
Barefoot dreams A Story by Coyote Poetry Good places and friends make distance places good dreams in old age. Barefoot dreams I met the Sergeant Major nightly at the Bowling alley, dance… 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. My sweet dreams bring your beautiful face to my memory.… Continue reading
Little truth A Poem by Coyote Poetry Rarely we know the real facts. A controlled media leave us blind and dumb. Little truth Dead cities. Now destroyed and burned. Who have won… Continue reading
My wild Texas rose A Poem by Coyote Poetry Good song make us write. My wild Texas rose Kind mistress night brought her to me. The Austin, Texas bars brought people from all… Continue reading
Coffee, you and me “Then shall thy circling arms embrace and dip my naked body, and thy balmy lips. Bathe me in juices of kisses, who perfume like a religious incense shall consume.” … 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… Continue reading