Fallen angel.
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
Tag Archive: Family
Sanctuary of love and kindness.
(My grandparent.) Sanctuary of love and kindness. Old friends have left me. Warm and safe houses are gone. Friendly and kind words are missed. Old faces with smiles and with always an open door went… Continue reading
The misery, the whiskey. A Texas story.
The misery and the whiskey. I returned from the war in 1993, and I tried to find peace in the Long Island ice teas in the Belton Texas dance hall. I went early… Continue reading
Wildflowers dreams.
Wildflowers dreams. A Poem by Coyote Poetry Old friends face had come to me lately. His baby girl is getting marry. It is sad poem. War take the best from us. Wildflowers dreams.… Continue reading
Jazzy Monday. Old love.
Jazzy Monday. Old love… She called me at midnight and she asked me. Johnnie, Johnnie. Do you remember me? I am so damn lonely tonight and please Johnnie. Can I come to you tonight?I… Continue reading
Everything.
Everything A Poem by Coyote Poetry How much do we truly need? Everything. If I lost everything. Would I become afraid? We live in a time. Where needing more and more is the… Continue reading
The walls and the damn mirrors.
The walls and the damn mirrors A Poem by Coyote Poetry Can’t hide what we became when we see our reflection in the mirrors The walls and the damn mirrors. My father told… Continue reading
The madness train.
The madness train A Poem by Coyote Poetry Time to know what real pleasure is. Before it is too late. The Madness train. I’m twisted up. Hogties to bullshit. I’m strangled with useless… Continue reading
The last time I saw your face. I remember.
The last time I saw your face, my kind friend. I remember. When we are blessed with youth and vinegar. We don’t know. We have few mentors and people who shall love us.Today,… Continue reading
Lestat’s cafe in San Diego. A meeting.
Lestat’s coffee shop conversation. Was a quiet San Diego night. I read my poetry at a poetry reading next to the Lestat’s coffee shop. I read an old poem. ” Bitter branches. Old… Continue reading