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Pockets Aug 29
There’s no traffic in the canyon
Just hitch hiking coyotes
That *** to many cigarettes
But always have good stories
All they want is a play boy bunny
To scratch them behind the ears
Where the truck stop soap always collects
They are simple like that
That’s why I never fear all the teeth in their smiles
Dull and worn down by all the miles
They have put on those paws
When we pulled into the next town
They nodded and got off
Back to the puppies
Or back to no life at all
The sun beams down
The coyote walks
harlon rivers Oct 2019
Waning  dappled  moonlight mantles
the margin at the wild-wood edge
Stiff tufts of summer dried grass spears
sporadically sway — raking against
the  scarlet  poison  oak  leaves
gently sweeping away the moonlit silence
airing the sounds of velvet antlers rubbing
barkless mountain willow trunks bare

Subtle nuances constantly animate
twilights rhythm;  heaven flickers
upon a dark umbrage of forest pillars
softly as a candlelight’s  fluttering  glow
evanescing  half way  across  the  sky;
the  sparse  illumined  clouds  stream through
the lambent halo around the rutting moon
fleeting in the blink  of  sleepless eyes

and like the silent touch of a talisman,
transfixed eyes are entranced by all
the  restless  night  disrobes,
captured and cocooned by the seeker’s
awakened senses

An erratic,  familiar feral bark peals haughtily;
a pack of maturing spring pups yip, bellow and shriek
in youthful pursuit;  the howling report back,
ignited by the scent of a rabbit's paling squeal,
aroused by the pulse of brother wolf
rippling deeply through their blood

The dried grass game-trail crackles towards the ridge top:
an aging full moon is not enough skylight
to see beyond a seeker’s stirring silent reverie
the coyote choir’s sudden reveling echoes rekindling
an extraordinary sheltering intimacy within;

bending slithers of moonlight into a dull moonlight mantle
but I can feel its weight breaking me ,... forlorn I can't physically
reach out to touch them in an absolving moment  —
understanding love was always the purpose of being ,...

futilely repining — I  can't  face  myself  alone  again

            harlon rivers ... October  2019                                                  

Notes: a coyote moon

3am — eyes wide open — embraced by a presence that robes the night
gazing at the ecstasy of feeling nature's deep roots in my soul

Thanks for reading ... rivers
J'observe depuis mon télescope
Au-delà des nuages
Ta photo qui sautille
Et je suis les courbes, les points et les lignes
Et je trace des figures imaginaires
Les constellations
Et soudain tu apparais
Ultra Violette
Entre deux ciels
Tu me fais signe
Et m'invites à danser
Et je te suis comme ton ombre
Je retiens mon souffle
Je plonge dans le mandala
De ton champ de Cinabre
Je viens à tes côtés
Je m'ancre à tes eaux
Je suis ton lama, ton gourou
Et toi tu es ma parèdre, ma  bouddha
Ma dakini souveraine
et je te déshabille en dansant
Et je déboutonne une après l 'autre
Les étoiles couleur aubergine
Qui composent ta constellation.
C 'est une constellation disparue
Que seul moi puis voir.
Il m'arrive à l 'oeil nu de t'apercevoir
Au détour d'un rêve comme en cet instant précis
Et la musique résonne si forte dans l 'espace
Je vois tes lèvres bouger mais je n 'entends rien
Mais soudain tes yeux hurlent
et tu me clignes ton nom en morse :
dash dot dash dot
dash dash dash
dash dot dash dash
dash dash dash
C, une longue, une brève, une longue, une brève
O, trois longues
Y, une longue, une brève, deux longues
O, trois longues
T, une longue
E, une brève.
ALesiach Jul 2019
Just beyond the sunset
the day's end paints the red horizon
radiance of orange, yellow, and purple light
what a brilliant sight.

Scent of wood fires burning
a coyote's howl fills the air
the day's song is at an end
and night's lullaby now begins.

ALesiach © 9/24/2016
Juhlhaus Mar 2019
This ground is hard and cold;
Streets are empty,
But not the houses.
There people stir and peer
At me from ***** windows.
A gray ghost, I pass quickly
On long legs and silent paws
To hunt the city's rabbits at dawn.
A tribute to a forlorn coyote seen on the outskirts of Chicago.
Jake Dockter Feb 2019
As kids
we played in fields
miles and miles of of planned and planted crops
that held within them
hidden wilds  

At night
I lay in bed
terrified of the coyotes howling outside my window
prowling fields and stalking  through tall weeds
sniffing out the mice and ground squirrels
chasing cats and lurking
hunting creatures of the night
fearful creatures of the darkness

One night,
I woke to the howling
I listened bravely,
braver than before when I would hide under the blankets or call for my mom

I peaked out of my curtains into the dark
and there
were two yellow eyes staring back from the dark

I saw the faint gray of fur
saw its mass and presence
but then it blinked
and startled
and instantly faded into the night.

The next day
in the mud
just on the other side of the fence
I found a paw print
just one
a mark
that she had been there
two eyes
one paw

At night,
I heard the echoes and howls that sounded like a million imagined wolves,
giant snarling beasts fighting and hunting
hurling themselves against the fence
fangs and blood and wildness

At night
when I took out the trash
I ran like hell to the can and hurled the bag inside
panting when I got back to the front door, in the light

But that paw
in the mud
was so small

Weeks later
riding the bus to school
I saw a coyote
in the early morning fog
thin and small
rushing across the street and
almost struck by the bus

It ran into the orchard
the bus driver cursed under her breath

It was so fragile
how could that be so frightful?

Is fear this thing?
This monster in the dark but in the day does it run
from shadow to shadow
with its tail between its leg?

Can it be hit by a bus full of children?
Does it lie in the ditch
and slowly bleed to death
after it misjudged the speed and distance and tried to make it
a tuft of hair stuck in the corner of the bumper
leaving nothing but a print in the mud
a small print
the only clue that it walked silently in the night?
Egeria Litha Feb 2019
Camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains
was the greatest day of my life
It was my birthday
I brought a suitcase
and my favorite dame
and hiked 2 miles UP^^^^^^^^
laughing all the way

UP ^^^^^in the Ozarks
Medics were shooting steroids in my ****
BUT, never been more in love
with a man who injects grief in my veins

Dwelling in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains
sensed his vibe
Yes, Jesus I feel you here

held en el Rio Grande con mis mejor amigos
drooling in the hot springs
Taos has called our names
******* the rocky sand that is below me
I find a coin from New Zealand,
in turn, losing my evil eye earring
an offering to spirit's stream
a pair of desert lizards
we desire to get frisky and be alone
we shine silver glitter under a moonlit glow

witches cackle and curanderos
hide behind coyote cries and cacti
looking to each other with faces expressing,
"What should do we do?"
I guess allow them to do their thing
humans need ceremonies too
Em MacKenzie Feb 2019
When in doubt for my thoughts and feelings,
just look at your own and you’ll see mine as well.
After all, that’s how these things work.
The weird title is from an old Simpsons episode that’s plot relates to the theme of this scribble.
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