Leftover wine..
Leftover wine.. In Austin, Texas. Pretty woman confessed her sins to the bar room poet. He listen to her tale and he caught glimpses of soft tears falling for things that were in… Continue reading
Leftover wine.. In Austin, Texas. Pretty woman confessed her sins to the bar room poet. He listen to her tale and he caught glimpses of soft tears falling for things that were in… Continue reading
Monterey The letters.. Dear BethI roamed your Facebook site. You are still so beautiful. I told you I was okay. I don’t like to publish to the world. I’m tire, so damn tire. … Continue reading
She serene me with the sweet words of love.. Sometime we shroud ourselves in things we shouldn’t have.Torrent love flames will become weaker and you must have something else to hold on to.… Continue reading
She had Angels wings upon her back.. Her long auburn hair rolled down her long slender back. The tattoos Angel awoke secret dreams and nightmares. Her tattoos rolled down from soft neck to… Continue reading
Three fingers of Black Velvet.. 1- Once, with a Germany night sky above me.Pretty Bridgette found me.She held me like a child and she told me.Play stay with me till you are okay.2-… Continue reading
I remember love.. A Poem by Coyote Poetry My muse came alive. I remember love… I do remember love, love was sweet, love was kind. The sweetest days, stealing touches and stealing kisses. When… Continue reading
Tell me, how did you lived?… Old poet told the people at the poetry reading. Dead men, do not rise. He read some quotes. “For each man kills the things he loves, Yet… Continue reading
Blood laced pen… Fight or flee?love or hate?stay or go?Laugh or cry?I wonder what Hemingway remembered in his last moment. Did he remember war or the face of Agnes?My pen does bleed to… Continue reading
Bare and true A Poem by Coyote Poetry Few times in a life. We open up to another and show them the real person. Bare and true… She was a noble beauty and … Continue reading
Trying to lose your memory.. I tried to find peace and calm in the coffee houses of Monterey, drinking strong coffee and reading dead-end poetry at the nightly poetry readings. I thought I… Continue reading