The darkest days.
The darkest days (Johnnie returned to Big Sur, older and grayer.) Winter of 1992 is holding on and I’m hiding out on Highway one. I brought the vodka and pineapple juice to Big… Continue reading
The darkest days (Johnnie returned to Big Sur, older and grayer.) Winter of 1992 is holding on and I’m hiding out on Highway one. I brought the vodka and pineapple juice to Big… Continue reading
Sin is sin, till we partake. He told the pretty Irish girl, sin is sin till we partake in her sweetness. Then the sin becomes a part of us, we will accept willingly.… Continue reading
The simple rules. “Do not wrong or hate your neighbor, for it is not him that you wrong, you wrong yourself.”Thomas Wildcat AlfordShawnee “The grandfathers and the grandmothers are in the children: teach… Continue reading
The songs of the seasons. Warm days, cold nights.Create a restless passion.I can hear the whisper of the windon a solitary hill. Old Mother Nature is calling for aid.The water is sick with… Continue reading
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
Everybody knows A Poem by Coyote Poetry I awoke pissed off today. Then my Poet of music Leonard Cohen set me off to describe my emotion. (I borrow a few lines from Leonard Cohen.Sometime we need to learn emotion… Continue reading
The January song. I told the Winter sky; I am in the January of my life. I asked the Lake St. Clair, did I do enough? I slowly built my mini-rock garden of… Continue reading
You and me? A long time ago. We had the same hope and dreams. We found each other again, drowning in old regret and good whiskey in the dark Texas taverns. You told… Continue reading
Passing through. A poet and writer exchanging words and thoughts. The Coffee house poet told the writer. We can never win. Jack London once wrote. “The gods always win. Men believe they can… Continue reading
(My father in 1996. He died two months later.) Sins of our father’s. A Poem by Coyote PoetryWe can learn kindness from living and seeing hate and violence. Father’s eyes and anger…. Is my… Continue reading