If you go away…


If you go away….

We didn’t know,

kind love was near,

we didn’t know.

Love blossom like a flower,

appeared in the Spring of our life and

can be forgotten in the Fall of our life.

If you go away,

can our wintry wings find our way back home to love salvation?

If you go away,

will you remember me?

If you stay with me,

we could create a epic tale,

where lover’s whispers are sung to the stars,

where the lover’s splendor are written upon the nightly sky.

Please stay with me,

please obey the lover’s call to the salvation to keep alive,

the safety of love embraces and love, sweetest kiss.

Dancing Coyote

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Charles Bukowski verbal poetry and a poem.


The most beautiful woman….

Everyday the most beautiful woman I knew, she sat with me at the Army mess hall and

she looked at my face hard and she asked.

Reading poetry today at the Monterey cafe tonight, Johnnie.

I told her, every Tuesday I read in Monterey,

every Thursday I read in Pacific Grove and

on Saturday, I read at Santa Cruz.

She laughed and she smiled, I know.

She took my hand and she asked me.

“You never invite me to come with you.

We eat together twice a day and you listen to my wild tales.

Don’t you like me?”

I told her, I am a old man and you are young.

Your world is fast and my world,

easy, drinking, the sea and my words.

Your eyes, your spirit and your beauty scare me.

I am old and ugly and you make the world bright and…

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T.S. Eliot and some quotes from Johnnie Coyote.


“This is the way theworldends.Notwith abangbut a whimper..” T.S. Eliot

“My grandfather told me often, one day, the teacher will become the student. The student will become the teacher.”

“Once my dear grandmother held me, she sang songs of love to me. In the autumn of her life. I held her and I sang songs of love to her. ”

“We can’t stop time. Death waits on your right shoulder and he whispered to us. Please remember, don’t waste time. Time goes by so quickly. One day you will be old and you cannot go back to the sweetness of youth. A wasted youth leave a sorrowful man.”

“Was our last words kind? Did I tell you, I love you? I wish to call you tonight, go to you now. I know I can’t. I do tell Lake St. Clair and the rising moon. Tell my beloved, so far away…

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Robert Frost poetry and some short poems to be read…

Come Enjoy the verses and the recitation!!!


“I loved the hard climb, the untouched path.

I listen for the flowing river and I go to her.

Rarely do I see people.

I sit with the trees, the free animals and allow my feet to feel the

coldness of the river.

I have learn to love the quiet places.”

Dancing Coyote

“I remember the house I lived in as a child.

Was my grandparent home.

The house was warm and

we shared three meals a day.

I remember the taste of cherries and ice cream at 8 pm.

I remembered the blessing of love,

being safe.”

Dancing Coyote

“The young girl asked me. Can we survive crazy? Can we survive madness?

I took her hands, kissed each one and I told her.

I knew crazy and I knew madness.

Being crazy kept be brave and knowing madness.

Keep be safe from the liars.

We, who see and feel…

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Teach hate or teach love?


Teach hate or teach love?

A Poem byCoyote Poetry

" My evening thoughts. "

When we teach our children love and hate in the same conversation. Did we teach the children well? Hate and love is two different places. You can’t have both. You want your child to see his world with positive eyes and if you demand death, teach hate and cannot see the good in our world. Maybe you are the problem? My Ojibwa Grandmother taught me. Holding hate and disappointment. A heavy load to carry and the sadness will break your heart. Will blind you from the beauty of life. Be kind to the family, listen and forgive. A heart filled with love, can show the children. Every life is important and we can be brave. Do anything.

Dancing Coyote

1. “I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.”

Chip Somodevilla/Getty…

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We were young once…


 We were young once…

“We poets in our youth begin with gladness; But there off in the end despondency and madness.” Wordsworth

“Soldiers rest! Thy warfare o’er, Dream of fighting fields no more: sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, morn of toil, nor nights of waking.” Sir Walter Scott

“Easy life and quiet death.” Sir Walter Scott

Old Poet sat by Lake St. Clair and he wrote. My old debts are not due now. They are just forgotten promises made. I remember beautiful faces, beautiful places. I loved and they are not forgotten.

Now the old poet have his Lake St. Clair and his bleeding words. Dead memories deeply engraved into his skin and his broken heart.

The lake is near him now. She is dancing for him. The Autumn storms making the waves alive and beautiful. He found the Lake St. Clair with different eyes now. He had…

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route of evermore ~



were promises
a hole in paradise –
fairytales rewritten
by the night
destiny untangled
by the memory of hands
kisses wore the route
of evermore

were consequence
a story –
meant to end some other way
as margins left
unblemished by regret
heroines and heroes
each remained as one
pressed into the telling
of desire

were wishes kept
by a star
refused to fall

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poet ~



as verses
I’m no different
from one hundred more
you loved –
poem unintended
for your soul

color me
into your lines
let my spirit fly
forgotten now the taste
of april snow

torn along
these very scars
weathered boards and all
pushed into the places
 met with rhyme

tell the others
what you can
and save the rest
for fall
when dreams are blowing
color off the trees

spread your fingers
o’er the map
roads to take you home
curs’ed now
the poet
to believe

. . .

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til faded ~



left the light
for someone there –
halfway down the meadow
glowed the path was
burned into the night

precious truth
of welcome here –
none the words for better
folded now as ribbon
to the vest

keep the warmth
of passions gone –
and bloodless autumn skies
frosted silhouette
above the grave

lay me down
the coming back –
stay the dark til faded
slip into my shadows
as the light

and keetoowah –
barefoot maiden wakens
carved her dreams
within each
slanted verse

spin to yarn
these flutters of
mysteries becoming
to flame –
wing’ed reckoning

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