The hills and the Apache.
The hills and the Apache. A Poem by Coyote Poetry “An old poem when I was seeking who I was. Written in 1992.” The hills and the Apache. I had a bottle of good… Continue reading
Tag Archive: California
The word man.
The word-man. A Poem by Coyote Poetry “Need people to desire peace before we cross a line of no return.” Many years ago. In 1991 to 1993. I would read my poetry on the coastline of California. … Continue reading
Dear Michigan.
Dear Michigan. Promises made and promises broken, left me where I started. I left you in Michigan trying to find the place where I could feel alive. I found wars, new cities and… Continue reading
We need more barefoot days. And a beautiful Mean Mary song.
We need more barefoot days. (April is poetry month. New poetry number ten.) I feel in love with the Pacific Ocean in 1992. I was very lucky. The Army send me to Fort… Continue reading
Dear Gail.
Dear Gail. She was my sea dancer; she was a kind lover. Now, she is a lasting memory, and she is tattoos on my mind. I was being loco, drinking and trying to… Continue reading
A poem for Spring. Her garden.
Her garden. I loved her from a-far, she was a true beauty. She loved working in her garden and she loved her roses and her natural herbs. We would talk of Dryden, Donne… Continue reading
Please one more dance near the sea.
Please one more dance near the sea. The Monterey pretty poet name Diane read to me. “Laughing, crying. Wanting, begging. Celebrating, complaining. Seeking nothing and wanting nothing. We like the hello and we… Continue reading
I hope your days be bright and love will be near you always.
I hope your days be bright and love will be near you always. She was my Gypsy girl, my Monterey Bay dancer. She would gather her friends, and they would find the sea.… Continue reading
Maybe, maybe not.
Maybe, maybe not. Maybe, maybe not she told him. We watched the sea and I journeyed into her eyes. She told me. When you open locked doors, spread the legs wide. Are we… Continue reading
The sin, the gin and the skin.
The sin, the gin and the skin. We were the Tuesday night poets, we shared words with the writers and the poets, we shared words with the lonely at the Irish tavern at… Continue reading