story
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Dear October. Hello dear October, my old friend. Cooler day and the beauty of the change of color, of the trees. Allow us to slow down and ponder who we are, where we are going? A good Spring and Summer. I saw my old friends the great lakes in the months of Summer and I… Read more
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Butterfly kisses. Once my baby girl, once my world.We had Summer days at the beach, Wandered all the parks near, We shared the first day of school and I waited a thousand day at the bus-stop for you.I learn love when you came into my world, daddy’s little girl grow-up and they know. Always a… Read more
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California A Poem by Coyote PoetryI need the Pacific. (Won’t be long. Michigan to California coastline. Coyote is going. Left California in 1994. Me and sea. Will be befriended. Maybe in June 2027.) California When… Read more
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Kiss me and say hello. The Jazzy songs had saved me. The jazzy songs, I needed. Once on a blue moon night, I told the prettiest girl in Michigan. I loved her so. Now the deep Jazz songs make me remember once, I loved “love.” Now I loved the dark Jazz bars, now I love… Read more
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My North Dakota hurricane. Beneath the midnight Monterey moon, we danced, we drank and we adored the Winter storms of the Pacific. We served as soldiers in the daytime and in the night. Me and my beautiful Gail sought to test life, we sought to dance with the Winter storms. We found our place of… Read more
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She wore flowers in her hair. A Poem by Coyote Poetry Good memories get better with time.” She wore flowers in her hair. I have descended to scattered dreams, and I lost my place in life. I decide a trip was needed. I was told in Vienna. The wine was sweet and the city… Read more
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(Old memories become sweet dreams in old age. Johnnie and Daniela in 1979.) The heartstrings. She poured the sweet red wine into her Grandparent borrowed wine glasses with soft and tender hands. Her eyes of river blue looked into his eyes. He knew she was playing him like a violin. Her gentle and sweet voice… Read more
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1- Time isn’t kind to us.. Once I was a soldier, once I was a business man and now I am a old man. I told the Lake St. Clair. What we did yesterday, doesn’t matter no-more. And what we became, is who we suppose to be. Old sin, old hate and old regret is… Read more
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SOS. 1- When a poet cries, he cried alone. He writes his tears to paper and allows them to be settle into a journal. Sometime madness can find us, and we forget to scream an SOS. Did Hemingway tell anyone. I am done? What was Phil Ochs last thoughts? 2- Are whiskey written words, less true. When… Read more
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A cradle hymn. “Hush little baby. Don’t you cry.Daddy going buy you a hummingbird.If the bird. It doesn’t sing.Daddy going buy you a diamond ring.” Poor little baby.Alone and scare.The child will be going to the daycare. Mama and daddy must both work.Minimum pay world leave the house in stress.Poor mama and daddy do their… Read more
