The ashes and the fire.
The ashes and the fire… My dearest love, my serene memory. I remember us. We loved the midnight hours, locked door and to be 3 am wild and free. The German Winter made… Continue reading
Tag Archive: Coyote Poetry
Two shots of happy and one shot of sad.
Two shots of happy and one shot of sad…. I painted pretty pictures for us, I made landscape of perfect and beautiful places. But we danced on the thread of real words. We… Continue reading
I want to fall in love again.
I want to fall in love again… Last year man prayed to Selena, the moon goddess on a warm Fall night. He told her, near the dancing Pacific ocean. The drunk man is… Continue reading
Mystical places.
Mystical places A Poem by Coyote PoetryFirst love, first real kiss and the first true words of love become mystical places where we can find in sweet dreams forever. Mystical places….. Many types… Continue reading
Truth or dare.
A Poem by Coyote Poetry Take no chances. Have no adventures. Truth or dare. Life, my friend. A odd game that no-one can win.I do like the game of truth or dare. I… Continue reading
The midnight hours.
A Poem by Coyote Poetry Great thoughts come to us in the midnight hour. Wishes for a sweet hello or some knowledge of the kind people in our life, If they are okay? … Continue reading
Fool’s wish. Lover’s hold on.
Fool’s wish. Lover’s hold on. A Poem by Coyote Poetry Love is all we got. Love for your lover, family and life. Give us reasons to be alive. Dreams can become nightmares. Nightmares can… Continue reading
Pretty Jen.
Pretty Jen. Was I running toward you or running from you?You were so damn pretty and so confused.I loved you once, in 1986 and we were just babies. We try to use-up every… Continue reading
Another time, another place.
Another time, another place….. The loneliness man at Fort Hood volunteered for missions in Central American. He wanted to escape everything and he wanted to taste the Hemingway’s tropical paradise. Once he sought… Continue reading
Killed and killed.
Killed and killed A Poem by Coyote Poetry A true and sad story of the permanent wounds of war. Killed and killed. On Friday night my father drank his rum. He would come and… Continue reading