Morning glory..
A Poem by Coyote Poetry Good to open your eyes and see the glory of the new day and beauty near.” Morning glory… The smell of fresh coffee and pancakes cooking and I… Continue reading
Tag Archive: Writing
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She was dancing alone..
She was dancing alone… She was dancing alone. Moving her bare feet slow and easy to the Jazz songs. She looked into my eyes and she waved me to come to her. I… Continue reading
Lest we forget..
Lest we forget.. Lately the days have become slower and I want less. Once the wild Coyote ran and ran till he found some pleasure, some laughter and a safe place to rest.… Continue reading
The rising sun.. New Orleans..
The rising sun.. I sat in the New Orleans in 1996 in a old rustic tavern on main street. I liked New Orleans, hard time and hard days couldn’t kill her spirit. I… Continue reading
The silence and the sea..
The silence and the sea.. Blessed is the man who knew regret and he learn from it.Lucky is the man who loses the emotion of rage,learn to live in the splendor of celebrating… Continue reading
Who are we? What did I become?
Who are we? What did I become? The poet wrote into a journal. “Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Anger, Greed, & Sloth.” “Sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch” He found a safe place in… Continue reading
Why do we write story and poetry?
Why do we write story and poetry? A Poem by Coyote Poetry Old wise saying. “Nothing good to say. Say nothing.” Poetry, my dear friends,is a sacred incarnation of a smile.Poetry is a sigh… Continue reading
Black as the night..
Black as the night.. Love is sweet and love can be so deadly. I knew Jenny was so damn beautiful. Youthful eyes and woman perfect curves, make a wise man become a tomfoolery… Continue reading
A one way street, sweet baby.. And a beautiful Elle King song.
A one way street, sweet baby.. Pretty lady called me lover, she called me friend. She told me, I need you near and please hang around dear Johnnie. I told her, sweetie, lover,… Continue reading
Spin the bottle..
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.Told me. “Damn if you do. Damn… Continue reading