The willow trees..
The willow trees…. Old poet told the girl. We must try to go back to where we were, if we can.The bright eyed girl asked with wonder, dear poet, I come to you… Continue reading
Tag Archive: Writing
Remembering the fragrance of Winter..
Remembering the fragrance of Winter.. I had lived the soldier life. The warm days of Spring did not bring love. The lucky sought the rendezvous with the sweetness of love when the days… Continue reading
The blue dress…
The blue dress.. I found you sitting alone at your family party. Your once fiery hazel eyes, grey with sadness. I asked you. How are your dear Belinda? You are still so beautiful.… Continue reading
Break me. Madness and broken promises.
Break me.. Please break me. Make me bleed. Show me I’m alive. Make me die and bring me back to life. Dead men revived know life can be okay. Drink of my skin… Continue reading
The Fall sweet honey..
The Fall sweet honey> Beautiful as the rising Summer sun,sweet and kind like the fresh Fall Michigan sweet honey.She told me, if you want me.Must leave your tomb and find me, a divided… Continue reading
I am going to California..
I am going to California…. I wrote down on a napkin at the Pier in Monterey. “You can’t go back and you can’t kill the memories.” I was young once and I loved… Continue reading
We were just men and women..
We were just Men and Woman… 20 soldiers sat and waiting in a room .The education of War written deep in their brains and hearts. Their souls became polluted with word kill, protect… Continue reading
Pathfinder…
Pathfinder A Poem by Coyote Poetry We look in many places for what we need and want. Most times what we need is in front of our face.” Pathfinder.. There are many way… Continue reading
The lady near the sea..
The lady near the sea.. A rainy and gloomy night in New Orleans in the Winter of 1992. Johnnie tried to drink away the heaviness of things left behind. He sat alone near… Continue reading
Dying, lying and you…
Dying, lying and you… Last house near the lake. Was our place to rest. We were Gypsy hearts and Irish coffee mornings. We would find the quiet lake rarely, for we loved the… Continue reading