About Rawclyde!

I have employed a few pen names throughout the years. Rawclyde with an exclamation mark (!) is the one too sticky to go away... Came of age at Crawford High, San Diego, CA ~ writing sports, a column, & playing football ~ graduated in '68... Attended SDSU for a couple years... Hit the road in a '56 Chevy milk-truck, a "studymobile," filling up notebooks & working as a laborer in the southwest... Practiced the genteel art of fiction for several years in my hometown... Enlisted in the U.S. Army ~ they made me a newsman in Hawaii ~ wrote another column for a while... Attended more courses at SDSU ~ studied novel writing with Professor Charlie Brashers... Sold books out of an '85 Ford one-ton van, a "book mule," in the desert... Did some writing in an old hotel in Prescott AZ... Have written & self-published 9 or so books ~ many of which are hiding out on the cyber highway...

Standing Beside Me

~

I creak into

the

dilapidated

pilot house

~

Of my haunted tug boat

as it

leaps forth

for a joust

~

With a wall

of

ancient

rock

~

I

sit

down

and gawk

~

My hand

 clutch-

ing

the wheel

~

When

on

my shoulder bone

I feel

~

A touch

gentle

gentle

and warm

~

In the midst of

the

pitter patter

of the rain of this storm

~

I turn

my

head

and see

~

 Stand-

ing

beside

me

~

In flesh

and

blood

Holy Mary!

~

Cloud Shadow 51

~

Oh my God, please

grant

me

thee

~

 Ser-

 in-

 i-

ty

~

To

 grate-

 ful-

ly

~

Be

e

e

eee

~

A Love Slave

to

Holy

Maryyyyyyy!

~

Cloud Shadow 52

~

She

says

to

 me

~

“Head

of

 Bone,

let it be

~

“Let thee old boat

go

where

it’s got to go

~

“And it’ll take ye there

where

the Light of God

 doth really glow”

~

Sooooooo

I

bow

my head

~

And contemplate

what

Our Lady

has just said

~

As

my

tug

boat speeds

~

Beyond all

be-

lievable

creeds

~

Right

at

the

rock

~

I brace myself for

a

rapidly

     approaching shock…

~

Cloud Shadow 53

~

But

 be-

fore

we hit

~

Mary

says

with

shy sly grit:

~

“As for my virginity

when Jesus was born

if ye

   do not believe it ~ “

~

She folds her hands

in prayer

and I’ll be damned if

   the rock don’t split…

~

Cloud Shadow 54

~

Oh Heavenly Father

beyond all

I

knowwwwwww

~

Oh Endless Mystery

beyond rain

and sun

light glowwwwwww

~

Oh

h

h

hhhh

~

Father of Love

above

and

belowwwwwww

~

This world’s gonna

kill me

 sooner or late-

er I knowwwwwww

~

After that

it is Your secret

where

   I shall gooooooo…

~

Cloud Shadow 55

~

“Here we are, oh

Earth

Mother

Mary

~

“Floatin’ thru a crack

in the rock that

has widened

quite contrary

~

“To the

facts

of

Life

~

“Your pure beauty

cuts

like

a knife

~

“Not just thru

this rock but

thru

my heart too

~

“And thru

everything

else

I deemed was true

~

“So tell me please

what

can

I dooooooo

~

“To

o-

blige

  Youuuuuuu?”

~

Cloud Shadow 56

~

“Well,

Head

of

Bone

~

“So

 all

  a-

 lone

~

“In

these

grim

Bad Lands

~

“Of

 cacti

 rocks

  and slithering sands

~

“Why don’t ye

show

some

grit

~

“Cut

out

the

s__t

~

“Sharp-

en

your

sword

~

“And

 serve

 Our

   Lord?”

~

And poof!

Holy

Mary

is gone

~

In Deep Desert

night

in Deep Desert

   dawn…

~

Text Copyright Clyde Collins 1995 2010

~

~

from

TREK 5

of

DEEP DESERT BLUES

by Rawclyde

!

http://deepdesertbluesv.yolasite.com

~

Advertisements

Most Supernatural

~

Cloud Shadow 26

~

Fine-oh-ly

I up n’ see

 a little bitty cloud a-

bove a distant canyon rim

~

In another canyon cracked

n’ splintered

with silence and

tiiiiiiime a-brim

~

The little bitty cloud

is

an answer

to my prayers

~

Ages and

ages

of

skeleton prayers…

~

Cloud Shadow 28

~

The little bitty cloud

above

‘de distant

 canyon rim

~

The witto bitty cloud

above

these Bad Lands

   so stark n’ grim

~

The little bitty

oh sooooooo pretty

cloud at

the bottom of the sky

~

This little bitty pretty

thing casts

a colorful butterfly

into muh eye

~

I mean where

my eye

used

to be

~

This brazen butterfly

a

flutter

naturally

~

 En-

ters

my

skull

~

Eats away the cob-

webs

that have

made me so dull

~

And flies out my

other eye

or

where it used to be

~

And disappears into

Deep Desert

sky

   aflutter naturally…

~

Cloud Shadow 36

~

But Alas!  the little bitty

divinely pretty

wisp o’

mist out yonder

~

Does

not

 wan-

der

~

Like

other clouds

would

do

~

Across

Deep Desert’s

crown

of High Noon blue

~

This wisp o’ mist

don’t

go

anywhere

~

It just

stays

right

there

~

Getting pret-

tier and prettier

as

I stare

~

In fact, now its be-

yond pretty

with some-

thing more to share

~

Some-

thing

more than just

   mist and air

~

Some-

thing

more that inspires

   a thank you prayer…

~

Cloud Shadow 37

~

It’s so beyond

pretty

it

seems to burst

~

With more

much more

than

a cure for thirst

~

In fact, it’s spewing

butterflies all

over

the sky

~

Butterflies beaut-

iful

humble

and shy

~

Flutter-

ing low

and

fluttering high

~

All over

‘dis

Deep

   Desert sky…

~

Cloud Shadow 38

~

Little Cloud

a-rumble

n’

a-tumble

~

So clean

n’ pristine

n’ yet

 so humble

~

With

a

purple

heart

~

That bit by bit

flies

 a-

part

~

Twirls and

whirls

in

a whirlwind

~

Out yonder

before

 my meaning-

less grin

~

Little Cloud

has

begun

to grow

~

Halo-ed in a

bright

white

glow

~

Twirls

n’

whirls

taller n’ taller

~

As the timeless silence

all around

doth

holler

~

With

a

voice

of its own

~

That

has

 al-

so grown

~

A singing

in

the

breeze

~

That knocks me

to

my

knees

~

Upon the crispy

deck

of

my toasted ship

~

As my sight

doth

timidly

sip

~

At this vision

 be-

fore

me

~

Of Little Cloud

towering

graceful

yet stormy

~

Miles

n’

miles

hiiiiiiigh

~

Up

 in-

to ‘dee

Deep Desert Skyyyyyyy!

~

Cloud Shadow 39

~

And

at

the

foot of this

~

Swirling

tower

 o’

mist

~

Fluffy white clouds

across

the

 horizon spill

~

To the east

to the west

over my head

with a chill

~

‘Cuz they turn in-

to bright

pure white

galloping buffaloes

~

And Thee Eyes of

each and every one of

’em

 glows

~

Like

little

red

 suns

~

Shooting bullets

of fire

as if they are

really gattling guns

~

And their hooves

sharp as razors

these

glow too

~

But

they’re

silver

n’ blue

~

And if you’re not

careful

they

might cut youuuuuuu

~

Like something

that is

that is

real n’ truuuuuuue

~

Across

Deep

Desert

blue

~

 Buf-

faloes

of

Virtue!

~

Cloud Shadow 44

~

Now

thee

most

beautiful eyes

~

More resplendent than

the most resplendent truth

ever unveiled

 beneath pure blue skies

~

Appear in the cloud that

blooms and looms

ever more sharply

 defined above

~

These two eyes

of

course

 overflow with Love

~

They are

of

course

  gazing down at me

~

And

I

am

utterly

~

Enslaved

by

this

Love

~

In

these

Eyes

   up above…

~

Cloud Shadow 45

~

Little Cloud

more than a

cloud

 in the sky

~

Just about

7

miles

high

~

Little Cloud

gazing

down

on me

~

So

 ut-

 ter-

ly

~

Oh

ten-

der-

ly

~

Once a poor

village girl

You’re

 so utterly

~

Oh

so

 heaven-

ly

~

Oh

so

 a-

bove me

~

When You walked upon

this earth

 You would-

 n’t hurt a fly

~

Now

You

stand

 so high

~

Little Cloud more

pretty

than pretty

ever can beeeeeee

~

In a cloud spun

veil and robe

some-

what breezyyyyyyy

~

You

have

blessed

me

~

With

a

glimpse

of Thee

~

Nope, I don’t

a-

dore

Thee

~

But, yeap, I

do

love

Theeeeeee

~

Eeeeeee-

mac-

u-

lit Maryyyyyyy!

~

~

Text Copyright Clyde Collins 1995 2010

~

from

TREK 5

http://deepdesertbluesv.yolasite.com

of

DEEP DESERT BLUES

by Rawclyde

!

Adrift

~

Cloud Shadow 25

~

I’ve been lost in

these canyons

now

for a century or two

~

Just floating a-

round with

not

much to do

~

I’ve read all

my books

about one hundred

times each

~

My spelling has improved

but I’m

a numbskull now

when it comes to speech

~

My haunted old boat

has become

brittle

as over-cooked toast

~

About forty feet a-

bove the ground

it can

barely still coast

~

It has bumped into

the walls of

these canyons a-

bout ten million times

~

Once more and it will

become nothing but

scattered

butterfly rhymes

~

I have not grown wise

over the ages

just

plain numb

~

If you were to ask me

my name

I would

just sit and look dumb

~

These scrappy

desperado

canyons of nothing

but rocks and sand

~

Have turned me into

the desert-bleached

bones of a

silent time-weary man

~

A living

fossil

am

I

~

Adrift

be-

neath

Deep Desert sky…

~

Deep Desert Blues V

http://deepdesertbluesv.yolasite.com

by Rawclyde

!

 

Do You Take Cream?

Why

are we getting together

over coffee

?

Why,

I sigh,

why

are we doing this?

Why must

you & I

look each other

in the eye

?

What if

you

have a sty

?

What if

somebody

starts to cry

?

What if I get shy & you get sly

?

What if

Bob Dylan starts singing

in the nex’ booth

?

What if suddenly one of us loses a tooth?

~

Butler Madness

Let me serve you gladly

I’ll polish all your glasses

Let me serve you madly

I’ll kick out all the asses

I’ll make your heavenly-muffin bed

Or I’ll leave it nice & rumpled

Which ever way you like

Spic & span or crumpled

I’ll greet guests at the door

Stay out of everybody’s way

Ask them if they want more

Pull your drapes on a sunny day

If you want to be

More or less subtler

Let me please you

As your butler!

I’ll bake you a birthday cake

Take your auntie to the lake

Messy leaves outside I’ll neatly rake

Throw your neighbors a fine & fancy fake

Your life has been too sad

I want to make you glad

I’ll never make you mad

Unless you call me “dad”

All your urgent commands

All you want & all that’s needed

All your demeaning demands

Will more or less be heeded

I won’t grumble

I’ll be humble

& help you to your feet

If ever you should stumble

If you wanna be more or less subtler

Let me please you as your butler!

~

Cloyd Campfire

~

Art Copyright Anne Stokes                                       Text Copyright Clyde Collins 2016

Rawclyde’s Ranch

~

road

http://www.roadmood.com

~

~

campsites

http://www.tallstorycampsites.com

~

~

ghost town

http://aghostttowncalledlove.yolasite.com

~

~

newspaper office

Old Timer Chronicle III

Old Timer Chronicle II

Old Timer Chronicle I

~

~

code room

https://rawclydescoderoom.wordpress.com

~

Rawclyde

!

Tulip II

     “Come in,” she sang.

     He came in.

     “Hi, Tulip.”

     “Hi,” she replied.  Under the faucet her hands worked with expert briskness ~ almost sweeping the dishes clean ~ also, incidentally, splashing soapy water all over the drainboard and floor.

     His hands, on the other hand, oh hands, carelessly but lovingly snuck around her trim warm waist.

     She nestled back with a hard slow wiggle of her bottom.  “When are we getting married?” she cooed.

     “Couple months,” he mumbled, intently watching her hands do an A-1 job on the dishes.

     Her head turned and she gave him a long lingering kiss.

     “You taste like hot sauce,” he whispered huskily.

~

from

Road’s Cannon

a short novel by Rawclyde!

~

Boy With A Hat’s topnotch “Washing Dishes” poem

http://vincentmars.com/2015/12/13/washing-dishes

~

photo

Mila Kunis

~

For France

In the wake of the massacre in Paris by Islamic State terrorists…

The night is down on Domremy,
Dark wings have circled every tree,
Shut out the stars and steeped the sky,
In anguish lifted like a cry.

~

GIVE JOAN A SWORD

by

Sister Mary Therese

of Lisieux

~

Shaking the young stars from her gown,
Pushing the moon back, Joan peers down,
On lands by terror twisted bare,
That shakes with battle everywhere.

A blight is on the world again;
A blight is on the souls of man;
And dark is death and dark is birth,
As sorrow runs along the earth.

~

This poem was written by Sister Mary Therese, in response to her brother’s death during the World War II naval battle at Corregidor.

~

How can she keep her soul in calm,
When towers of Reims and Notre Dame,
Send up their cry of muted bells,
That tear her breast with moans and knells?

How must her hands have ached to hold,
Her shining sword when pain patrolled,
The glory-ridden crimson shore,
Of Batan and Corregidor.

How must her lips have burned to cry,
A challenge to the southern sky,
For heroes who would never see,
The sunset stain the Coral Sea.

Young Joan is restless in the sky;
Young Joan is burning to defy,
The sign that sickens men with pride,
Back to the wars young Joan would ride!  

To rout out the bitter pagan horde,
O God of peace, give Joan a sword!
And in this moment, send her down,
To Domremy, to every town!

~

~

Almanac of Saint Joan Reincarnated 2012

http://saintjoanofarcreincarnatedalmanac.yolasite.com

~

Singing Lizards

~~~

from the short novel

THE ROAD PRINCESS & ETERNITY

by

Rawclyde!

~~~

    Come dawn, after another night without sleep, the road princess was on the road again ~ afoot, stiff, thirsty, hungry.

     Plump red pears sitting like crowns on cacti growing along side the dirt road, beckoned her blade.  She cut off one of the little fruits ~ bit into it.  It was sweet and juicy.  She ate several.

     At the bottom of the canyon she came across a creek.  She dunked her head into the cold bubbling water ~ and drank.  Although she was already somewhat chilled from her long night in the open air, she discarded her clothes and nimbly stepped in ~ submerged herself in a nature sculptured tub of rock and sand.  The water was agonizingly cold, and a moment later, blissfully refreshing.

     Ruthie bathed.

     She noticed a crawdad, its beady little eyes sticking up out of the water, spying on her.  With a deft hand she picked up a rock and, quick as a bullet, smashed in the crawdad’s head.  She broke apart with her teeth the little lobster-clawed carcass and ate the mouthful of raw meat within.

     Ruthie stepped out of the tub.  She sparkled like a flower with morning dew ~ and covered with goose bumps.  The creamy-white shadow of a tiny bikini accented her summer tan.  She shivered.  If a vehicle had passed at this time, the occupants, if lucky enough to be glancing in the right direction, would have glimpsed a completely revealed piece of ~ of living grace.  But no vehicle passed.  Ruthie donned her clothes and footwear, combed her fingers through the long wet strands of her hair.  Revived and reckless and ready to die, the young lioness of the road hit the road with a familiar bounce in her step ~ and with droplets of water evaporating on her naked belly.

     Three hours later her feet were dragging.  Her heart was pounding.  She was dripping, instead of with creek water, with sweat.  Lizards scampered into the brush along the beer-can strewn roadside as she passed.  Dust arose in little puffs of woe behind her heels.

     The road was now ascending without respite ~ mile after mile.  The gravitational pull was not nice.  The lack of shade was not nice either.  The sun was so hot that poor sojourner Ruthie felt as if she were ploddding along beneath 50 electric blankets ~ turned on ~ high!

     How come there were no cars on this road?  And where was this road taking her?  She shuffled around a bend in it.  Hoping to see it level out, she saw instead the ribbon of dirt curling its way up the canyon wall for at least another steep mile.  Ruthie’s heart sank.  Yet her feet kept plodding forward.  She was going to walk until she died.

     Then she heard a chorus of humming.  She stopped in her tracks.  Her heart, beating hard, was actually keeping beat with the humming.  Or was the humming keeping beat with her heart?  At any rate, what seemed like a hundred baritone voices were humming what sounded like an old Civil War tune.  Where was the humming coming from?  Ruthie looked around.  She saw nobody.  So she kept walking.  But the humming wouldn’t quit.  So she stopped again.  And listened.  It was definitely an old Civil War tune.

     If you recall, kind and sympathetic reader, Ruthie had had only a couple winks of sleep for many days and many nights ~ six days and six nights to be exact.  Physically, being young and strong, she was still, more or less, sound.  But mentally, she was long gone and beyond that level of normal day-to-day functioning of which we, who find nightly rejuvenation via sleep, are so familiar.  Mentally, you might say, she had sky-rocketed off the launching pad of an uninvited, undeniable, unmerciful exhaustion, into other, less familiar realms.  Now, in other words, she was nuts.  But she didn’t know this.  The humming was as real as could be to her, and the lizards that had been scampering into the brush and hiding as she walked by, were now lined up, she thought, on either side of the road, doing push-ups, and humming!

     Ruthie was dumbfounded.

     Yet she smiled fondly at the prehistoric little bygones who she thought were there but weren’t, and who were honoring her with what she thought was such a fine performance ~ and she continued to drag her feet up the long long road.

     With an endless row of unreal lizards to the left of her, and an endless row of unreal lizards to the right of her, all humming in brilliant chorus, Ruthie cried and smiled like rain and sunshine at the same time ~ with exhaustion, pain, joy ~ as she trudged along.  And the enchanting beauty of her inner spirit brightened the ripe femininity in her face to such an acute degree, that she was beautiful as a woman could be, but nobody was there to see.  And pretty soon, the lizards were singing:

“When Ruthie

comes marching into Heaven

Hurrah!  Hurrah!

God and his angels

will welcome her then

Hurrah!  Hurrah!”

She felt rather foolish, even blushed, and the song was terribly corny, but she couldn’t help but rain and shine with a kind of exultation.  With these little baritoning ghosts of her mind to either side of her, she felt very humble and very proud.  In fact, she experienced every edifying emotion there is to feel under the sun, as they sang:

“Saint Peter

will cheer, her dead brother

will shout ~

Good gentlemen

     they will all turn out ~ “

And she even burst out with laughter, titillatingly amused, when her multitudinous entourage trumpeted:

“And we’ll all

feel gay when Ruthie comes

marching home!”

The road princess straightened her shoulders and picked up her pace, as hundreds of reptilian figments of her sleep-starved, sun-stricken imagination, doing push-ups to either side of her, hummed some more and repeated again and again their song of glory to her.  She was elated.  She was sanctified.  She was full-blown nuts ~ and wiped the sweat and the dust off her brow with her slender arm and trudged on.

     She reached another bend in the ascending road ~ saw the ribbon of dirt continue its ascent up and around a distant, broad-faced bluff.

     “Jesus,” she moaned ~ and trudged onward.

     The lizards, as Ruthie passed, clamped their jaws and began to scamper into the brush alongside the road again, just like normal lizards do.  Ruthie stopped, blinked, scratched her head.  The silence was mortifying.  All she could hear was her heart beat.  She turned around, backtracked around the bend she had just traversed, peered down the road.  Nothing ~ nothing but a mini-Grand Canyon and an empty road climbing up out of it.

     “Am I going nuts?  Or what?”  mumbled Ruthie.  She turned around and continued onward ~ up up up the long dirt road.

~~~

The Road Princess And Eternity

~~~