When the children cry and the poem, The whore bath…


The whore bath…

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

" Seek the truth. The controlled media will lead you to confusion. We must know the truth. "

(When the children cry. Do we listen? Ukraine, rarely spoken of. Mass killings in the USA. What do the children see? What do the children think about, when the foolishness of men kill everything that is beautiful? A very old poem. Same meaning today. Ukraine, fighting and struggling. Millions displaced people and the leaders of this world. Just waiting. I heard fat Senators in Washington tell the press. Been guns in Texas for 160 years. I wanted to tell him. In 1860 Texas. Guns were needed to keep you safe. Was free and open land. Today the new guns. Automatic weapons made to kill many in war. No-one needs a automatic weapon in the civil world. How many people must die? Before we learn. We are brothers and sisters in our world. All of us can bleed. The children are watching and the children are dying in Ukraine. Time for everyone to demand this war ends. In Russian, many men and women were harmed and in-prison for standing against the attack of Ukraine. Thank you for reading.)

The whore bath

A Poem by Coyote Poetry
"Sometime we must listen, think and make wise decisions. More liars than kind people running our world."

The whore bath….



 Large shining teeth, an large man with loud voice. Telling me the way to heaven holding whiskey in one hand and the bible in the other. I will find my way to paradise by the gift to his Christian cause.  His teeth seem to shine brighter and smile larger. His mumbling of a thousand words. Leave me feeling dirty and I get a damp cloth and wipe away the words of a greedy man.


 The captain tells me.” I own you. You do what I say. Even  to death. I’m in-charge.” I try to wander away. But he keeps speaking. I feel dirty and go to the latrine. I get a damp cloth.
Another whore bath in a life where the words are eating away at my soul.

 I sit in a classroom. The instructor asked me? If I was ordered to kill. Would I? I tell him I would kill him first. But my words become weaker with each second the instructor speaks. He shower me with his blood song and I began to understand. The sweat pours down my face and I go to the bathroom. One more whore bath for a man drowning in useless words. Forced to accept for a few pennies. Beliefs only a mercenary could believe.

  Maybe if I was a high paid whore. I could live with the things I must do. But nothing as bad as a cheap whore.

                     Coyote