Forget me not.
Forget me not… I dreamed of you, I dreamed of us.I picked-up the phone.I was dreaming of your face, your voice, sweet like the German Summer wine.I dreamed of your long legs and… Continue reading
Tag Archive: Coyote Poetry
Never enough whiskey, she told me.
Never enough whiskey, she told me… Pretty girl drank alone, once we great lovers and now we have become strangers seeking nothing. I told her, damn tavern is place to die, dear Julia,… Continue reading
Memories of music.
Memories of music. A Poem by Coyote Poetry Music allowed the rebirth of memories and faces. Memories of music… Let me not fall into dreams of sadness.Allow the awful shadows of things lost.Not… Continue reading
Fallen Angels.
Fallen Angels. In the lair of the fallen angels. Old men talk of fleeing love, old war and missed faces. I joined the club at a young age. Bad decisions, dead brothers and… Continue reading
Thank you for the kindness.
Thank you for the kindness of love.. Cecelia was a Monterey beauty. More beautiful than the flowers that decorated the walkway by the pier. She was well-spoken, she wore colorful Summer dresses and… Continue reading
We need kind people, good song and laughter.
We need kind people, good song and laughter. I found Joe Ann at a strip club. Only place near Fort Hood that played my Detroit sports. She would sit with me and hold… Continue reading
The Texas jazz, I do need.
“Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope.… Continue reading
Show me your real face.
Show me your real face. I loved the Monterey bay. I would bring my beer and whiskey to the Pacific, I would write into my journal, drink the cold beer slowly, I watched… Continue reading
The old man blues.
The old man blues.. A black wind is touching my face, neither sadness or happiness can I know. I ain’t cold, I ain’t warm. I am just alive. Once a misty eyes beauty… Continue reading
The poet and the artist.
The poet and the artist A poet and a artist sitting by Santa Cruz boardwalk drinking coffee and chasing conversation. The morning was perfect, the sea was calm and the coffee was strong.… Continue reading