Some end of the year selections from ‘Musings of the Old Coyote’,
the home for many of my random thoughts and dangerous insinuations.
'Kisses'
The creek rises up
to tickle my feet
Like a lap dog
licking my face.
'Tulips'
The first time I kissed you I knew,
Tulips are better than one lip.
'A Warm Heart'
A warm heart cannot be broken.
A heart only breaks if it’s brittle.
'LoveHate'
He said
“I never had the chance
to hurt you
because you beat me
to the punch.”
She said
“I never had the chance
to love you
because every time I tried
you ducked.”
'Conflict Of Interest'
There’s nothing I would like more
than to grow hair on my back
to keep me warm for the winter.
There’s nothing I would like less
than to have to shave it
for the summer.
'Eleven Stars'
There were eleven stars
above my head last night.
Some might say there were
several billion more
that I could not see.
But to me there were eleven stars.
And I saw every one of them.
'I Asked For Shade'
The tree has grown up over my head
while I’ve been sitting on this rock.
'Bird Bath'
Quite active today.
Sparrows splashing around
like children
in a summer puddle.
Like adolescent boys
in a backyard swimming pool
trying to impress the girls.
Like men bragging about
conquests they never really
made.
Like those women
flapping their lips every morning
on “The View”
'Selective Hearing'
The people lost their way
when they followed the sound
of their own echo.
'Delegation'
Leave it to me
to leave it to you
to leave it to somebody else.
'Still Working Shifts'
I walked around outside of
this old factory, abandoned,
falling down from years
of neglect.
I sat beneath a shredded awning
on a weathered deck
to observe, and absorb
the ghosts still working shifts
on ancient lathes, machines,
and other equipment
long-ago rusted,
but left to do what they had
always done.
Like a heated disagreement
between neighbors
I can hear the metal on metal
in need of grease.
'For The Rest Of My Life'
Your voice on the phone,
like velvet
in my sandpaper world.
I could stay on the phone
with you
for the rest of my
life.
'Vines'
lined up like soldiers
on parade, a full company
waiting for inspection.
Vineyard stretching wide,
like an army spread miles
across the otherwise barren valley
of Armageddon.
Grapes to be plucked by hand,
then crushed by feet stained red.
The vines will then be plowed,
buried like soldiers, once proud,
beneath the very earth where they
once stood . . . . . . . . . but now
have fallen.
The soldier for the liberation
of our nation.
The grape for the liberation
of our soul.
'Shadows'
casting themselves long
behind trees,
leaning away from the morning sun,
making shapes of their own,
expressions of themselves
on sparkling grass
still wet with dew
from the rain.
Like we shape ourselves
each day we are alive.
'While I Ride Herd'
Clouds laying up gracefully
in an amber sky,
mountains tracing the
un-ambiguous horizon,
cows moving quietly
about the meadow
while I ride herd
from my hammock.
'At Your Window'
You buzz me,
like the best espresso,
or an overly ambitious
libido.
Like the shock of a young nun
dancing naked in a midnight mass.
Like lightning striking water
where I’m standing
peering thru the frosted glass
at your window.
'Writing Her A Poem'
I didn’t know it
at the time,
but she was drawing
my portrait
while I was writing her
a poem.
'It Made Me Wonder'
She sat on the grass
filing her nails
with a big emery board
closer to the size of
an ironing board
than an actual nail file.
And she had a bag
full of other stuff
in a support role.
It made me wonder
how men manage to get through life
with just a Swiss Army knife.
And a remote control
to change the channel.
'Valentines Day'
How did Mr. Valentine
get his own day
when I can’t even get
a window table
at the Broken Heart Café?
'Moving Earth Around'
An old red tractor
tearing up the field,
digging up the rocks,
filling holes,
moving earth around,
turning it over.
Like your therapist does
for 50 minutes
twice a week.
'Left Unspoken'
There’s something
to be said
for not saying
anything at all.
'An Autumn Day'
An old red barn
standing in a field.
An old chestnut mare
leaning on the fence.
An old oak tree
providing her shade.
An old creek bed
winding it’s way by the barn,
by the horse,
by the tree.
An old farmer
sitting on the porch,
half asleep.
'While I Was Watering The Roses'
A spaceship landed
in my front yard
while I was watering
the roses.
I gave the windshield
a squirt with my hose,
a good wipe with a squeegee,
and they were on their way.
'Two’s Company'
I got out of both sides
of my car.
Imagining I had arrived
at the party
with a friend.
'The Last Time You Walked By'
If I had
just a couple of minutes
left to live
I’d close my eyes
and breathe in the fragrance of
the last time you walked by.
'They Will Stand Together Gladly'
I watched you gathering weeds,
and cuttings, from the overgrown
stream bank,
choosing carefully the wild,
but dying, stalks and stems
knowing, by your movement,
by your style,
that you would somehow breathe life
into an arrangement to be made
of these otherwise forgotten
and decaying
shapes.
They will stand together gladly
in a glass vase, in the sun,
on the floor, in the corner
of your day room.
'If You Follow In My Footsteps'
I left footprints
on the beach,
then walked backwards
in the same impressions,
leaving no trace
of where I went.
If you follow in my footsteps
you can only walk
to where they end,
then you’ll have to figure life out
on your own from there
my friend.
'Henry and Leopold'
The old bulldog
did a practiced imitation
of his ageing keeper,
but he still had a jump or two left
in his hind legs.
And a few frolics percolating
in his otherwise tired disposition.
Whereas the old man had all but
exhausted his own.
What they still shared, however,
was that common, but uncanny
physical resemblance
honed quietly, but carefully
through years spent living alone
together.
And barking at the TV.
'4th Of July'
Everybody loves a parade.
Nice to see people all moving
in the same direction
for a change.
'The Demise Of Vanity'
She left herself
too long under the
tanner
And died an ignominious
death.
'Illusion'
She did a Google search
on herself
And discovered she didn’t
exist.
'In Poor Taste'
I was looking at
the back of your head
imagining it was attached instead
to someone else’s face.
'Dismissal'
He said “You’re getting better.”
She said “Whatever!”
He said “Don’t say “Whatever”.
She said “Don’t say ‘You’re getting better’.”
'Moss On A Rock'
A soft exterior.
Like a down coat
on a hard man.
'Afternoon Nap In The Grass'
Babe,
you just relax.
Sleep peacefully.
Don’t worry about a thing.
And I’ll keep my eyes peeled
for snakes.
'Looking For My Brother'
I’ve been wandering around this graveyard today
looking for my brother.
I knew I wouldn’t find him here.
They burned his body
down to ashes,
and scattered them to the wind.
But I thought I caught a whiff
of his cologne.
'Silly Reasons To Smile'
Your teeth might like some fresh air.
The frown police are in the neighborhood.
Your life could actually be an audition
for a network anchor job.
'The Vultures'
A single engine plane
chased all the vultures away.
I was just beginning to enjoy them.
Even though they were hoping
I would die.
'Dignity'
No matter how old
I get
I will piss
standing up.
'In Your Shoes;
It would be difficult
to walk a mile
in your shoes
since your feet are stuck
in the mud.
'Protest'
I didn’t brush my teeth
before bed last night.
It was my small way
of saying fuck you
to the world.
'Newspapers'
We can’t believe
everything we read
in the papers.
What we really need
is a newspaper
that tells us
what we can believe,
and what we can’t
in the other papers.
'Hope'
doesn’t give much
notice,
or turn to offer
some pretentious resignation
upon it’s departure.
It just walks
quietly through the door
with a furtive glance
and is gone.
'Strangers'
The ubiquitous stares
of strangers
hunt me down
and stab me
like an arrow
pierces deeply
the tender
and vulnerable
breast
of a disconsolate
deer.
'Obituary'
He died
at the end of his life.
'Affordable Truck'
Shopping cart.
Rusted from the weather.
Utilitarian companion of the
dispossessed.
An affordable truck
on it’s route across town
in the morning fog
in the emerging dawn,
in the anonymous cloak
of solitude.
The early riser
the 4 wheel driver
in search of sidewalk treasures
discarded like bad fruit
by those of us
who own too much.
'Life'
I’m alive.
The wind stirs my soul
at times.
The beauty of life
extracts
an occasional
tear.
Read more at the "MUSINGS" page of The Old Coyote website
