Pretty face, doesn’t mean pretty heart.
Pretty face doesn’t mean pretty heart. He told the sea; he told the Black Velvet he held tightly in his hands. Everything that is pretty, sometimes isn’t truly pretty. Can be just be… Continue reading
Tag Archive: Poem
Dear Daniela.
Kiss me once, kiss me twice. We learn too late. We can’t have everything we wanted. The chronicle of life can be un-fair. And we learn, somethings cannot be forgiven. Just accepted. Once… Continue reading
Last bus going to the sea.
Last bus going toward the sea. 1- I traveled 1500 miles toward the Florida sea. It was the last bus to the ocean. I was reaching for a miracle, I was dreaming of… Continue reading
Barefoot girl.
Barefoot girl. A Poem by Coyote Poetry Nothing as beautiful as a woman who is barefoot, dancing with the sea and happy. Barefoot girl. Prettiest girl in Iron Mountain told me. Let’s find the… Continue reading
Please come to me on a summer day.
Please come to me on a summer day. The prettiest gal in Germany told me. Please come to me on a summer day. We can drink the summer wine, and we can dance… Continue reading
The word man.
Many years ago. In 1991 to 1993. I would read my poetry on the coastline of California. I had some fans too. Old woman and young girls. They called me the word man. I carry a… Continue reading
The human touch.
The human touch. A Poem by Coyote Poetry The easiest gift to give is concern, time and to listen. In a world of fast pace and little time. We must slow down and show… Continue reading
Blue eyes.
Blue eyes. A blue-eyed angel is crying for me.In the turmoil of a kind love.The paradise of burning and powerful emotion.It can create a strange prison. I hold her too tightly,then I don’t… Continue reading
Dreams don’t die. Can be heard by wise people in the gentle wind.
Dreams don’t die. Can be heard by wise people in the gentle wind and never forgotten. A Poem by Coyote Poetry Can’t allow war to blind us from peace. Guns and hate will close… Continue reading
We were young once.
We were young once. “We poets in our youth begin with gladness; But there off in the end despondency and madness.” Wordsworth “Soldiers rest! Thy warfare o’er, Dream of fighting fields no more:… Continue reading