Category Archive: Poetry and story

Folly..

Folly     Dead men don’t weep no more, stagnant life lead to deluded ending, Pretty things can hide the hidden truth, nothing gain-nothing lost.     We can ascend and we can… Continue reading

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Three old poems. Young man eyes.

The whore bath A Poem by Coyote Poetry,  Written in 1992 Sometime we must think and make wise decisions. The whore bath Large shining teeth, telling me the way to heaven. I will find… Continue reading

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California poetry..

  Dear Clinton, Michigan   You told me often. Love wasn’t enough. The heart become too hidden with time and age. —— California isn’t enough   I called you beautiful Jenny and I… Continue reading

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Merle Haggard and some words.

  If we make it through December   Pretty Jenny was long legged and sweet as the Fall honey. She loved the Texas two-step and I love having her body near. She was… Continue reading

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Frankie Valli and some words.

My eyes adored you   My sweet dream, my first dream and my last dream. I loved you  since you  were my sweet and kind friend. You gave always gentle and  sweet  words… Continue reading

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If I could, I would..

 If I could, I would. First words and last words, we cannot forget. If I could, I would go back in time, spend more time with dear grandmother. She called me honey, dear… Continue reading

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No mas amor

No mas amor The drunkest man at the Trujillo beach bar had learned to love the silence. Now he enjoyed the Honduras rum and the empty sea. Once he was the bravest man,… Continue reading

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Remembering the fragrance of Winter…

Remembering the fragrance of Winter A Poem by Coyote Poetry A story                               Remembering the fragrance of Winter I had… Continue reading

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The sun, the moon and the star..

The sun, the moon and the stars ————————————————————————————– She told me, pretty does, pretty do. Kind sun warm our faces and our hearts, the moon light-up the darkness of the night and the… Continue reading

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The last chance motel..

   The last chance motel Summer Texas night, cold drink and no-place to go. Michigan dreamer, drinking his Long Island teas and writing into a journal. “Song of my father, songs of the… Continue reading

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