Archives for August 2013

Earth Angel



I don’t care if tomorrow never comes.
I’ve been lonely night and day since
she ran away.

My world ended the day she left me
for another. I think of days that used
to be when she’d sleep with me.

If I can’t have her, I don’t care if the
sun ever shines or if tomorrow
never comes.

I can’t believe she’d leave me for another when
I wanted her to be a mother. I fed and clothed
her well. But he had something I didn’t.

She scampered over there every chance she got.
It wasn’t right, I couldn’t give her up without a fight.
I loaded my gun and went to where she was,

Knocked on the door. A man bigger than most
answered. I said, “She’s here and she’s mine. I’m
taking her home and you better not try to stop me,”

When I put my pistol barrel in his ear, he pleaded,
“I told her a thousand times to go home, but to my
sorrow, she refuses to listen to me.”

I smashed the side of his head with my pistol barrel.
She ran to him and licked his face until he awoke.
Fear filled his eyes when he spoke, “Go home you bitch!”

She kissed him again and didn’t care that I was standing there.
“You’ve grown cold and no longer care for me,” I told her.
“Set me free,” I told the man as he got off the floor.

“You can have her,” I said, “But you need to pay for her
thoroughbred papers.”


My author page at Amazon is,




There are people like me who dare to become

attached to and sometimes choose to speak

to plants and trees that are as lonely as me.


Trees live for years and years I believed and

had no concern it would bring me to my knees

and leave as everyone and everything I’ve ever

loved has gone and done.


Taking with them a piece of my heart until what

remained became hard without any regard, and

ceased to beat, until this tree blocked the blazing

Arizona sun from burning me.


Like me, the tree didn’t have a beating heart.

I watched it grow from a sapling to a 30 foot

tall mighty Elm that shed tons of leaves in

the fall.


Raking them became a chore, until I looked

at my now naked tree and worried how it

would survive winter’s cold. I wished and

prayed that spring would hurry and soon come.


The remaining piece of my heart softened as I

worried that snow and wind would be too much for

a Chinese tree with a crown of gold that’s not compatible

with extreme cold.


I became emotionally involved and fell in love

with my Chinese Elm and did all that I could

to keep it safe and alive, but it died on me at

the age of 21,


taking the last piece of my heart with it. I cut what

remained into pieces that would fit into a fire, stacked

them into a high pile and saw the heavens smile.


When my time comes, I’ll lay atop the funeral pyre,

and we’ll travel together to that place in heaven where

the heartless go.




With a smile, I’ll write what I have to say

about the left and right, maybe even the

purple night, so she can preview my loving words.


She can change the color of the night or left

from right to romantic words she’s dying to see

roll from the typewriter keys of a man she loves.


In return, she’ll begin to send me words I’d love

to have whispered in my ear without fear by a

woman filled with rage and passion, like her.


When like an old fashioned miracle, we finish

our tale, we may not have love, but beautifully

written words that readers will believe are true

and could only be written from the heart of

someone irresistibly in love.


A romantic tale will prevail that would never have

been told if it wasn’t for a man and woman who

write, to have pooled resources and collaborated.

My Imagination

My Imagination


I can’t shut the door in my mind, I can’t kick

my habit, so I’m at it again, packing all my

creative tools to build a woman, that will never

fear, out of steel and cement to make me content.


She will be as fierce as can be, with Freddy Krueger

hands, spikes for nails and a pinhead made from

nails and cement. I’ll spare you the degrading details.


Her body will be tall and thin with faces for breasts and

maybe two on her back so she never has to look back.

I’ll make her with a smile and white cement, but may

stain her black or brown, but I won’t explain.


Creative juices are starting to flow through my

veins and I become alive as I think of what I can

do with my fingers, hands, and a barely working

brain that’s always in pain.


That I’m poor and don’t have a dime to spare, I can’t

use that as an excuse not to build a statue that’s on

my list. I’ll do it alone, stand that fifteen foot tall bitch

up In my sandy yard for all to see what caused my

intoxication and used to only exist in my imaginatio

I’m building a companion for Boadacia.

IMAG0677 IMAG0678 IMAG0680 IMAG0681

Souls For Sale

Souls For Sale


I started to believe, until there was more

wind on the hill and congress made a list

of 17 scientists to investigate for falsely

claiming the temperature rise was calamitous.


I numbed myself it seems, because I didn’t

believe a word those pseudo scientists said

about how hot it would get in the time set.


I didn’t feel or see how hot it had got, until I

saw Alaskan’s hitting the swimming hole

and ice flows to small to hold a polar bear.


Ships sail through Arctic waters and soon

they’ll be drilling for oil there. So the temperature

rise isn’t all bad. I’m glad to hear the end isn’t near.


We’ll have more fuel to burn, but we’ll never learn that

before long Chicago will be a tropical paradise where

winter winds will no longer blow and snow will cease to fall.


The oceans are rising and their coral reefs are dying,

but those who don’t believe say it’s all right,

Mother Nature is just doing her job and we’re evolving.


Seaside cities will move inland and those vacation

homes built near the ocean will soon be gone, but

people refuse to believe that global warming is true.


When the bugs and slugs around the world grow as

big as they are in Florida and tropical diseases sing

in northern cities, will people believe it’s an early spring?


Will the denial financiers buy billboards to show only idiots

can believe what scientists say? They’ll deny there are

more hurricanes and tornadoes.


They’ll simply say, behind the veil, they’re good for the economy.

Knock on wood, they create jobs and don’t bother to worry when

water becomes scarce or disappears and costs more than gasoline.


Drink water like a bird, wash less when you undress, and

when the air reaches a point where it’s hard to breathe,

we’ll give you a paper mask.


Do these deceitful men ever look again before they sell their

souls to the very rich? Do they have kids or grand kids who will

be alive to see all this come to pass? Do they have souls to sell?


A Recorded Call

A Recorded Call


There are calls for free and fair elections, and

active participation by the people as we used

to agree in our long hushed phone calls.


We promised protection of human rights of all citizens,

even those sub-human who believe differently than we.

They’re free to criticize us, their elected leaders.


We’ll guarantee under law, their right to have

beliefs that are different than ours,  to say

and write what they think and drink, as long

as they don’t read the small print.


We’ll lead them to believe they have the right

to assemble, to protest. and we’ll let them think

all citizens are equal under the law that we’ll design.


It’ll say, no one may be discriminated against

on the basis of their race, religion, ethnic group,

or gender, but women must surrender their warm

and tender feelings to keep us afloat.


We’ll promise that no one will be arrested, imprisoned,

killed, or exiled. That no one is above the law, not even

a king, “perhaps me” or an elected president. Torture,

cruel and inhumane treatment are absolutely forbidden,


unless we need information.


High ranking officials cannot use their power to enrich

themselves we’ll say, because it’s not the way a Democracy

is designed, but that’s why we’re so far behind in pay and

find the need to accept any and all donations and bribes.

In light of history, nobody but us can provide safeguards for

the people’s liberties which are victimized when we allow

sissy men to be in charge. We’ll change things by calling

for Democracy, and killing those who don’t agree.


Do you agree?


The End of the Road

The End of the Road.


I’m trudging down that long,

long road I have to follow

before I appear at the place

where death waits for me.


I’m gonna miss being alive

after I die. When I arrive at

the location marked for my

demise, I promise not to cry.


I’ll look at the bright side and

see that when I leave this world,

I’ll have angel wings and be able

to fly, sing, and be happy all day.


I begin to practice for what’s to

come. I build a set of wings and

jump off a cliff. With a broken leg

I sit with a rented harp on my lap.


A hymn leaves my lips, my neighbors

call the police and I’m arrested for

disturbing the peace, but that doesn’t

wipe the smile from my lips.


I’m practicing being happy here so I’ll

know how to act after I die, I tell the

angel from hell who wears a white coat

and asks me why I wear a happy mask.


I can’t tell a lie, so I say, “When I leave

this world and go on to the next, I’ll

be able to play my harp while I happily

fly around singing all the time.”


“You’re insane,” he says and takes me

downstairs to a padded cell where I can

sing and yell until I come to the end of

that road I have to travel before the end.


Cowboys tell rhythmic tales and

try to make me laugh with their

talk about how they’re tough as nails.


They often tell of their love for fast

horses, cows, steers and most of

all, the beans they ate for dinner.


They sing about the stars above and

the wide open plains they ride upon

making their lives better than all the rest.


At the end of a hardscrabble day, they

gather like hornets in a nest and stories

about how hard they work, women they

lost and money they never had abound.


Sitting on the ground romantic stories

they tell make me dream of  becoming

one of them, and I know I’d fit right in

when I begin.


I’ve lost every woman I ever had almost

as fast as I lost every cent I ever earned,

and never learned how to make any return,

so don’t be concerned, I’ve got a story to tell too.


Her eyes were round and dark brown. Staring into

them always sent my hormones rushing to a

cooler place because they’d catch fire

when she was around.


I couldn’t control my heart strings that vibrated

like wings when she came near and rubbed

her rump against me like she wanted to hump.

That gave me a lump that I tried to control.


Bless my soul, It wasn’t right that a married man

like me would have such an urge, but one day I

could no longer resist and took her into the barn

and had her assist me in closing the door.


We rubbed noses and then I grabbed her tits.

Moving behind her, I fulfilled my burning urge

and would have done it again if my wife hadn’t

opened the door and asked,


Why are you doing it with a cow when you have me?

Compared to her, the cow was svelte, she smelled

sweeter and her hair was neater.


I no longer have a home, but do own a guitar, a horse

and a cow that I love more than my wife. So you

see, I can compete with stories told by other cowboys

like me.