The Raven and the Coyote…
The Raven and the Coyote… A Poem by Coyote Poetry June new poetry thirty-one The Raven and the Coyote… The Raven told the him. Perhaps, perhaps dear Coyote. You can share some trickery with… Continue reading
The Raven and the Coyote… A Poem by Coyote Poetry June new poetry thirty-one The Raven and the Coyote… The Raven told the him. Perhaps, perhaps dear Coyote. You can share some trickery with… Continue reading
Time waits for no-one… A Poem by Coyote Poetry June poetry number thirty… Time wait for no-one… He was fond of her for many years. He was fond of the way she walked and… Continue reading
Molly Malone.. A Poem by Coyote Poetry June new poetry number twenty-nine… “Sweet Molly, Sweet Molly Malone I can see if you smile, Though I’m off half a mile, For my eyes all the while, Keep along with… Continue reading
Little Wolf… Once a pretty Ojibwa gal stole my heart and my thoughts. Her coffee brown eyes and golden brown skin made me wish to swim in her kind and gentle eyes. She… Continue reading
What the children see… The children smile, the children laugh. Their eyes of wonder see a world of opportunities to test life, befriend many. A child don’t see color, the child don’t see… Continue reading
Wild, wild angel… I am listening to you and you are listening to me. We have fell into a harmonious madness. We must decide to wild and free. Or accept less and sleep… Continue reading
The poet’s wisp… The pretty Texas gal asked me. You are here every Friday and Saturday morning by the Austin River sitting alone. Reading your books and writing into your journal. You read… Continue reading
Stitches… I remember her last words. The million hellos were erased by a midnight good bye. Once we entwined our lives and now in my secret place. A million fingerprints, leftover reminders. I… Continue reading
The lady in the black dress.. Dancing alone in a downtown Austin tavern with my empty Black Velvet whiskey bottle in my hands. Playing alone in the bone yard of long and shattered… Continue reading
The heartstrings.. She poured the sweet red wine into her Grandparent borrowed wine glasseswith soft and tender hands. Her eyes of river blue looked into my eyes.He knew she was playing him like… Continue reading