Hey, that is no way to say goodbye. And an amazing Leonard Cohen song.
Hey, That isn’t no way to say goodbye You were my warm Spring day. The sun, the moon and my flowing river of hope. You were my first love and last love. I… Continue reading
Hey, That isn’t no way to say goodbye You were my warm Spring day. The sun, the moon and my flowing river of hope. You were my first love and last love. I… Continue reading
My oh my Johnnie was drinking hard whiskey, was watching the sea dance and the sky turn more blacker and dangerous on the Monterey Wharf last tavern. A sweet voice whispered, big storm… Continue reading
My secret life… I was your boss and teacher once. We shared hours in a locked building. I adored your long legs and auburn hair. Your perfect body unable to be hidden, made… Continue reading
“I loved the hard climb, the untouched path. I listen for the flowing river and I go to her. Rarely do I see people. I sit with the trees, the free animals and… Continue reading
The stranger song.. Pretty lady asked her old lover. When did we become strangers?Once we talked, danced and sang the whole night through.Now we sit together. Your eyes had died and your hopeful… Continue reading
Love letters — part two. My sweet love. We may be foolish, wishing into a wishing well for things we do not have anymore. I want you to know joy and happiness again… Continue reading
Passing through…. A poet and writer exchanging words and thoughts. The Coffee house poet told the writer. We can never win. Jack London once wrote. “The gods always win. Men believe they can… Continue reading
My great love … I told the young writer, we shall have many great loves. Many women will steal our heart, make us want everything and more. But there are those maidens, who can… Continue reading
Once you told me, I love you, I need you. Now the blessed words had turned so damn dirty. I told you, I love you still, but now our love is a open… Continue reading
Longing, belonging and secrets… Lover, lover, lover. Once we loved the long nights, once the wine tasted sweeter. Now our longing, belonging and our secrets, are bloody finger prints on a over-painted wall.… Continue reading