Almost lovers. And a story.


Almost lovers…

I found the prettiest gal on the crossing of Dover to Calais.

I was drinking the Johnnie Walker whiskey, watching the sea dance.

Pretty Swiss girl with the darkest brown eyes, told me.

It is a sin to drink alone, please join me and my friends.

We are safe and we won’t bite you.

I offered my hand to her and I told her, my name is Johnnie.

Michigan boy traveling alone to Paris.

She gave me her hand and she told be my name is Muriel and

I am from Basel, Switzerland, also traveling to Paris.

I joined the table with two more Basel girls, 18  years girls and  on Summer break. I told them. I packed-up some Johnnie Walker red and some German peach schnapps and I am willing to share. They laughed at me and one of the girls reached out her hand. She told…

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Two Paths

Dragonfly Poetry

The high road,
leaving everything standing
walk away touching nothing
a ghost in the shadows
leaving untouched love
to simply fade away.

The low road,
complete destruction
nothing left standing
the sins left bleeding
every door slammed
the earth void of all existence.

Choose one of two paths
maybe a mixture of both
pick one good feeling
and it’s equal evil twin
meet somewhere in the middle.

Make living about today
be the best you know
and that might mean
you’ll have to bite that tongue.
Ignore the little things.

Trust that voice will return.
Walk slowly at first,
eventually you’ll pick up and run
freely spending the nights
in that belly laughter
you’ll figure life out.

These are your big moments
you’ll show us your strength
the reason why
we looked in the first place.
Today might seem all burned,
tomorrow newness returns
it’s right over there
waiting to…

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Your misty eyes


Your misty eyes…

You bathe me with your hazel eyes and I love your misty morning eyes.

We have hot coffee, early morning, the sun rising from the east.

I tell you, let’s slow down this day, great haste make us forget,

heavenly places where I can rest my head into you lap,

savor the perfume of the Summer flowers of your skin,

lay in the shade of your love.

The blessed days,

we must make last forever.

Dancing Coyote

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tara caribou

memories of you,
images in ink and sighs,
sift through the pages of my mind

a soft breeze fluttering,
a sharp gust, and I remember you:
your smile as you stroked my cheek,
the sun streaming through my hair,
my own smile reflected in your brown eyes

turn the page

and I woke to your strong hands
gentle and rough
I want to live in these moments forever

bookmarks and dog-ears,
you filled all the empty places in me
I learned to breathe

my fingers slide along the edges of my heart
papercuts of memory
they draw out tears instead of blood

my heart aches in my chest
I’m afraid I’ve faded from your mind
that I’ve been placed on a different shelf

I was worn out and well-read
but did you see the cream-colored spaces
between the carefully crafted script?

they say they know me
but they know…

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Angel dancing, too close to the earth


Angel dancing, too close to the earth.

A Poem by Coyote Poetry
"Just words. "                                 

Angels dancing, too close to the earth

Pretty wishes, deadly journeys led me to the Austin, Texas sun and you. Till I met you. I saw grey skies only and the drink was sweeter than living. I remembers I told you my sad tale and you told me. “You talk of life, like it is piss and shit only. Sorrow and pain, just lessons to make us appreciate the good days.”

You were Texas born, long legs  and so damn beautiful. I knew your words, honest and true. I told you.
“I need a miracle, I need to appreciate the white words, delete the dark words. I need a Texas girl who love the long Texas highways and can…

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Faith bigger than fear

Rhapsody Bohème

I am trying a wordless Wednesday for the first time (or some version of it), and not every day requires a lot of things that need to be said. Sometimes it’s only a few words that bring the most powerful message and this one seems to strike a chord. It applies to much in my life these days, but that’s a story for another day. In the meantime, just ponder the meaning and let this one sink in.

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Black and White!


For every night,

There is a day too…

For every Sun,

There is a sky too…

For the moon,

Are the stars…

A piano has the

Whites and the blacks….

A board of chess,

Compiles blocks pole apart….

But all of them make sense,

The music it still creates,

The game is still played…

Life is a series of opposites,

Realities that look vague.

Air that suffocates,

Sky that’s limitless,

And possibilities that are infinite….

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A Faded Romantic's Notebook


He knows her eyes from her photographs.

He is lost in them.

In a number of the treasured images they are open and smiling. In others, they are mysterious and brooding. Sometimes they smoulder. In one or two they are soft and vulnerable. These touch him deeply.
He has no vocabulary to describe the colour – and besides – it is not constant. They are molasses, and coffee, and cinnamon and toasted biscuits and burnt caramel and dark, amber honey.
They remind him of newly born, shining chestnuts, freshly emerged from their creamy skins.
Her eyes make him think of gorgeous, golden, gleaming antique wood, of raw opium, and of rich, crafted, leather.
And of looking deep into her soul while he slowly, tenderly, expertly caresses her perfect body with long, elegant, sensitive fingers.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
I do…

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