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Black as the night….
Love is sweet and love can be so deadly. I knew Jenny was so damn beautiful. Youthful eyes and womanly perfect curves, make a wise man become a tomfoolery in love.
Her wanting eyes wanted everything and she was free-flowing not caring where she fell and who she took down with her. I allowed her into my apartment in late October. She brought some wine coolers with her and her smile as sweet as the Fall honey.
She asked me. Dear Johnnie. Can I stay the night? She went to her knees and she wrapped her arms around me and she whispered. Damn the lonely nights. I feel so alone. My heart is black as the night and I need someone to make me feel wanted and needed. I don’t want love. I need hands that know what to do. I need lips that know how…
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We become, who we suppose to be.
A Chapter byCoyote Poetry
We become, who we suppose to be.
I befriended a 30-30 once. I cleaned her five-time daily and I drank the Johnnie Walker whiskey. I wrote dead-man poetry and I didn’t seek human contact. I learned to love the quiet. I didn’t know till later in my life. Death didn’t want me. I had things I had to do. The Devil had a sense of humor. He wanted someone to talk to. Damn wars saved me. I sought the good death, the warrior death and I ended-up in Monterey. Death didn’t want me yet and I became the Irish Pub Dark Poet.
I found the Devil at the Irish Pub in Monterey in 1992. I had a fist full of money and I could watch the sea dance in my view…
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We become, who we suppose to be. Part two.
A Chapter by Coyote Poetry
We become, who we suppose to be. (Part two)…
It was late September 1992 and I felt lonely. After I read at the Monterey book store poetry. Everyone escaped and I was left alone. I decided to go to the Irish pub and try to find the Devil. He could always make me smile and he told me story about the old gods. He told me often. Don’t hold on to the bad things, today Johnnie, is what is important. Tomorrow may not come. I arrived at the Irish Pub and I looked at the Pacific. She was dancing crazy and wild tonight. Maybe a great storm was coming? I saw Luna’s long ginger hair and she was drinking alone. I went to her and I…
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Bacchus wine and beautiful ladies…
Once I was free, once I didn’t slumber in living. I remember the sea, I remember barely dressed women dancing for the Pacific. The rhyme and song of a poet’s pen, are curvy women, Bacchus wine and lover’s chatter till the morning light.
The sweetest days are, sharing coffee with a beloved, holding hands and sharing dream watching the morning sun come alive. Once I weaved sweet dreams, longed for the sea, loved the never-ending kisses. My war-torn soul was lost somewhere, now I dream of perfect lady whispering to me, come hither, come closer, please dance with me.
Please Johnnie, come to the Monterey pier, I am waiting for you with the Hemingway ghost. My beloved, let’s dance for the midnight moons, please awake your quiet mind and find the place where the Bacchus wine was splentiful and youth was our wealth.
One day, I will…
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We all have mistakes and weaknesses in us
We do bad and good things
Nobody is perfectly good
No one is perfectly bad
Life shows us the direction
Though we may have to go through many chambers
That are painful and unpleasant
We are all in the process of becoming, in the making
Let’s not pigeonhole any human being
To judge, to condemn him as he is at the moment
For time and tests of life will change him
Like the waves of the sea breaking at the shore to form the rock
God always gives us new chances
To learn from mistakes, to become a real man
That’s how we should treat each other
Always giving us new chances
That is true forgiveness and forgetting…
Often we say or do things
Without knowing the real reason
In the foreground we keep up appearances
But if we scratch the surface
We come across the spring water of truth:
A thin voice that tells
The real reason for our actions and words
Which we often hide
Do not even want to hear
When we know it
We are horrified
Shocked at ourselves
Ashamed of our own ego
That appears “shining”
Conceals in motives
Behind actions and words
Not as innocent as we thought
Man know thyself…