Beautiful Maria. Showed me the way to the fray..
A woman, too pretty to be near me. She took my hands and she told me. Johnnie, Johnnie. You must find the Fray. Your organized life is killing you and your dead dreams… Continue reading
A woman, too pretty to be near me. She took my hands and she told me. Johnnie, Johnnie. You must find the Fray. Your organized life is killing you and your dead dreams… Continue reading
The Fray, the train ride to Monterey.. Part two. A Poem by Coyote Poetry Be not afraid of the Fray. The Fray take you to where you need to me. The wistful life will… Continue reading
Thank you for the kindness of love.. ( April is poetry month. This is new poem number twenty-eight.) Cecelia was a Monterey beauty. More beautiful than the flowers that decorated the walkway by… Continue reading
A wish upon a star(A Poem by Coyote PoetryOld dreams never fade away.) A wish.. Every night before I close my eyes.I whisper your name to the Pacific ocean and the raising moon.… Continue reading
Maybe, one more cup of Irish coffee? ( April is poetry month. This is new poem number twenty-two. ) I remember the fragrance of her. She smelled like the sea and Irish whiskey.… Continue reading
The madness, we knew… You loved the whiskey, you love the sin and you loved the long ride. You wanted the sea , you wanted the ancient writers and you loved the quiet… Continue reading
Dear Angie.. I remember our days and nights at Big Sur, you were my imperfection angel. You wanted, just enough and you allowed your dreams to die. You enchante me by speaking careless… Continue reading
I called your name.. Beautiful lady is weeping for me. I departed for unknown destination. I didn’t know. First tears will take us to weight-full memories and places amidst lonely descended wants and… Continue reading
Once upon a Summer day.. ( April is poetry month. Poem number seventeen.) She was the kindest and pretties gal in Monterey. I called her, my lady of the sea. She called me,… Continue reading
The sea. (New poem sixteen for April. The poetry month.) The old poet told the young poets, old ladies and the kids. 1- Bit by bit, piece by piece. We are create puzzles… Continue reading