Delicate wings…


Delicate wings

A Poem byCoyote Poetry

" Some people are more tender than others "

                             Delicate wings…

Beautiful Liz. Allowed me in.
Her word and beauty memorized me.
Woman who strip down their true cover and show you what is
hidden beneath clothing and fear.
They are rare and delicate ladies.

Many skeletons for us to hide.
Few perfect people.
We are just flesh and bone trying to understand our life and journey.
All of us cling to thing lost and cannot be found.

First kiss, first love embrace and the first dance.
They are printed into our mind and heart.
It is a sad world dear Liz.
Hard to forget bad places and things.
I believe the hard places teach us to appreciate the good places today.

When I see you. I saw delicate wings struggling to fly.
I see beauty bursting out and I know.
You will be…

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Russian Roulette…


Russian roulette…

Beautiful young woman danced on a stage on the border of Austin Texas,
moving like a beautiful butterfly in the breeze.
She held the attention of the men holding tightly to good whiskey and the gin.

A religious man sat with me drinking Jack Daniel straight.
He told me the rapture is coming and it is too late.

I held my whiskey tight,
watched the young woman on stage.
I waved a five dollar bills. She came near.
Brought my face close to her face. She whispered. “Thank you Johnnie. You are a gem.”‘

The darkness had overtaken me.
I told my sisters many ways to die,
can play Russian roulette with a mirror or slowly poison the blood and the mind.
Fast death or slow death. Old world is playing Russian roulette with us anyway.

I have watched old Soldiers die from wounds by the old wars.

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Scottish kisses…


Scottish kisses….

A Poem byCoyote Poetry

"The kisses of love. Never forgotten."

Scottish kisses…

It was 1978 and the long days of Summer were here. Early June, warm days, weekend activities and weekend adventures to discover new places. I found safety in the German taverns. Loud and obnoxious drinking places serving the good German beer and the strong booze. A young man dream.

Drinking contest, 3am soccer games with the loco German men and women. Easy days, the good days.

On a Friday night, a drinking boot in hand, filled with beer, one drink and one kill. I finished and my German friends were laughing and cheering and I saw her.

A dark eyes beauty with perfect gentle and kind face. She smiled at me and she turned away. I yearned to see her face again and put my hands though her long dark black hair. I wanted to…

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My Joan of Arc and a Leonard Cohen song…


My Joan of Arc…

She painted her make-up upon perfect skin. She turned to me and she told me . I need my war face tonight. I rarely show my real face to anyone. I used to pray for perfect life. Now I pray to keep death away and find reasons to live.

She was my leather and lace. She was my black in heart beauty. I told her. No perfect life my dear love. All of us had sins and create pain and hell. No perfect soul. I have begged for mercy in the fire of love and I had ran from true salvation. You cannot repair the deeds of foolishness.

She laughed at my words and she came close to me. Whispered. I use to pray for someone like you. Someone who would accept my scars and my heavy weight of regret. But, dead hearts and blind eyes…

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