Sometimes love is not enough.
Sometimes love is not enoughA Poem by Coyote Poetry Sometimes love is not enough. Kind and sweet muse told me. Sweet Johnnie, I can save you.Please tell me what you need. You… Continue reading
Tag Archive: Writing
Roses and lovers.
Roses and lovers. “O my love, O my love. I said: Let me fall or stand, let me fall or stand, let me live or die, but this once hear me speak- O… Continue reading
Pretty lady with angel wings on her back.
Pretty lady with angel wings on her back. My pretty lady friend with tattoos on her back and legs. She asked me. Do you like my tattoos? I smiled and I told her.… Continue reading
She told me by the Lake St. Clair. Love never did love me.
1- A Summer Day…The birds were singing near me.Lake St. Clair was alive and dancing for the children.The sun-kissed my face and I told the Goddess of the lake.Thank you for the perfect… Continue reading
You are my muse dear Katie.
You are my muse dear Katie. You are love and I’m no-one. You came to me with haunting words awakening the want of love, dance and song. Your gentle voice awoke my dying… Continue reading
She was black as the night.
She was black as the night. I watched her dance alone to the holy jazz songs. Simmering words make her body move slow and easy to the songs. I know to keep my… Continue reading
Dear Sheena and an amazing Scottish song.
(April is poetry month. New poetry number twenty-nine.) Dear Sheena Once upon a time, I danced with a Scottish beauty. Gentle voice, lovely accent, I adored. We learn to know love and I… Continue reading
A naked woman.
A naked woman A Poem by Coyote Poetry A naked woman (A wise artist once said. To see a nude woman is more wonderful then 1000 beautiful paintings… Continue reading
Whim and follies.
Whim and follies. I told her. Sometimes good to go slow.Men will eat and eat, not stopping to taste or digest the food.He will forget to cherish the taste,the gentle touch and the… Continue reading
We shall meet near where the Clinton River reaches the Lake St. Clair.
We will meet where the Clinton River reaches the Lake St. Clair. (April is poetry month and this is new poetry twenty-five.) I told you when we were just babies in heart. Where… Continue reading