Slow dance and a wonderful Ana Popovic song.
Slow dance. Good Jazz, the good drink and drowning in the old memories. My old love dancing alone to the saddest Jazz and I told my whiskey. Pretty lady, I remember us. I… Continue reading
Tag Archive: short-story
My father never cried or healed.
My father drank his rum and coke every night. As a child, I accepted his want to find peace in the rum. I would sit with him, and I saw in his eyes.… Continue reading
Bad love. And music by lovely Lindsey Stirling.
Bad love. I felt the darkness of the night overtaking the lights of the day. Stealing away the gentleness that is left in me. The once sweet memories had turn to a cancer.… Continue reading
You get, what you deserve.
You get, what you deserve. We steal, we borrow, we loan and we want more, we want less. Pretty feet, soft and tender legs I kissed softly, and I looked in her eyes.… Continue reading
The daylight fading.
The daylight fading. Once the kindest woman in Texas weaved me a safe place to be. Dearest Jayne used to hold me tightly and she sang songs of love to me late into… Continue reading
The waltz of the angels.
The waltz of the Angels. I told the barkeeper. Keep the long Island ice teas coming. Sunday morning is a coming. I need to be blinded by the morning. He gave me a… Continue reading
The wolf and the raven dance. And music by the beautiful Harp twins.
The white wolf and raven dance. 1- Nocturnal life she wanted. But the raven befriended the quiet white wolf. She wanted quiet, she tried to forget. The screams of the dead. They murdered… Continue reading
If it be your will. And an amazing Leonard Cohen song.
If it be your will. I saw her sitting alone with a small child. Pretty auburn hair and hazel eyes. Soft tears were falling her eyes and I went to her. I asked,… Continue reading
Love did whisper to be on a summer day. And a wonderful Rachel Hardy song.
Love did whisper to me on a summer day. She was a butterfly dancing in the wind, her long colorful dress moving with the breeze and love, did whisper to me on a… Continue reading
Spin the bottle.
A Poem by Coyote Poetry “The game of youth get used without our permission with old age.” Spin the bottle. Old man sat alone. He told me. Damn if you do. Damn if… Continue reading