Rawclyde’s Ranch










ghost town




newspaper office

Old Timer Chronicle III

Old Timer Chronicle II

Old Timer Chronicle I



code room






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.



Road’s Cannon

a short novel by Rawclyde!


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




Mila Kunis


Diana Longtree


by Rawclyde!


Diana the ghost

with the horizonless brains

she’s got the most

railroad track & smoothest trains


Diana Longtree

a floating miracle

so bumpity bump free

she’s downright biblical


She hoovers

near the ceiling

of the jail cell in which Sheriff Isom Dart

has locked himself for the night


Candle melting low


shadows waltzing

beckoning his eyes to close


Diana up there

an invisible cloud full of demonettes & desire


awaits awaits


To slyly slip like a

secret agent

through the gateway

   of Isom’s dreams…


A Ghost Town Called Love


A devotional for Diana…



My lassie come home lately

long legged whimsical lady

instrumentalist of up river loins

warehouse momma of golden coins


You lay your hand on my head

pull lightly on my ear

nimbly guide me along

now I trombone your song


You’re my budding rhyme lady

I’m your happy slave baby

it’s my doomed man destiny

to gulp down your jungle she intensity


Aye, my devoted eunuch fate

is to open your slippery temple gate

swallow your rolling wave chores

& keep your marathon scores


I defend your freedom fearlessly

love you more than oh so dearly

hand you in a tin cup my weary soul

the gleam in your eye, my one prize, my one goal


Your legs tie the knot securely

around my head blind & curly

our kiss thus forever reigns

   and, oh oh, Ishtar locks the chains…


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)


Goddess Ishtar’s Pillar of Salt


Soundtrack to A Ghost Town Called Love:


Oops!  Where’d the ghost town go???


Going to the chapel…


The most beautiful

most ghoulish empress

on Earth

& I

so sly so wry

stood on the top

of a rock pinnacle so high

up there in the desert sky

her one thousand & one demonettes

so wily so crafty

could not answer why


Above the panoramic valley of death

swayed her & I

her hair a furious flag of glory

the hat on my head a miracle

that would not blow away

in the blow-torch wind that

scorched wounded & branded our souls


The view at our feet

shrank crucifixions & ghost towns

into nothing for nobody but ants

this wild escarpment of God stretched

around the planet & bumped

the back of the head as

we stood there

on the verge of slow dancing

but just holding hands instead

our eyes wide open to



Clouds eye-balled by like

thick novels

their pages fluttering to the climatic end

in a matter of seconds


A passing eagle dropped a feather

into me’ lady’s other hand

the great bird snapped his wing

& was gone


She stuck her new eagle feather into my miracle hat

I became Chief Hopping Rabbit

but we still didn’t dance


We only stood there

quietly contemplating the journey before us

then I said to her



She  squeezed my hand

we leaped into the void


we floated upward…


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)


Mary’s Saloon beckons Ghost Face…



Mary’s Saloon rebuilt & doing well

beckoned to me

a divine finger c’mon


I approached in slow motion

the newly reconstructed bat-winged front door

one early evening


The band was chortling Ava Maria

Lady Magdalene was perched on a wooden barrel

outside the door as a rainbow feathered

mystical crow


The wooden sidewalk creaked a

love song to worn-out boots as

I placed a winged-heel there

& I fondly nodded to the Jesus factor

in the Magdalene’s diamond eye






The consequences of which were lost

due to my sudden awareness of

a mountain lion sitting upright

on the planks half a store front away

& the beast’s ferociously hungry eyes were on me!


I tossed the large predator a

swift secret-agent move

then dashed the other way into the saloon

the inside of which resembled a Spanish cathedral


I found Mary sitting serenely in a back pew

she made a motion with her hand

that induced me to sit nearby &

we enjoyed the music eternally


I happened to look around & sure enough

that cougar had quietly stretched out on the bench

to the other side of me with her tail swishing

she lay on her back, placed her foot on my thigh


A couple drops of water from a broken pipe

dripped onto the mountain lion’s head

& aghast!

the critter was really Diana Longtree

in her new saloon dress


We three bozos


& laughed

& had a fun time together


Until Diana slowly grew solemn

like the flossy critter that she is &

glancing at Mary, she said to me, “Tell her”

& I grew solemn too


“Dear Mother of God

Diana & I

want to get married”


Mary’s eyes grew brighter than

they already were

she smiled benignly but

rolling her eyeballs toward the colorful murals on the ceiling

she said, “Ghosts can only get married

in heaven”


A magnanimous rooster

strutting back n’ forth on top of the bar


cah cah cah cahhhhhhh



(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)


Diana Returns



I blink once twice

she is home

standing beside me

gazing down at me

straight out of Isom Dart’s raunchy dreams


A miracle leg sleigh ride disappears up a

short Mexican serape &

above that, two church windows lit-up with tumbled emotions

peer out from a cast-down neighborhood

of swirling spilit-end avenues


The barely draped miracle grotto

of ludricous desire is too close

for my mouth to ignore & my tongue

dutifully stiffins in anticipation of the job

that looms so poignantly ahead


A colossus brick of jealousy

clogs my chest & I cannot breathe

until with a desperado mind

I conscientously lug this brick down down

into my belly & melt jealousy into a soft gooey lump of


Slobbering slavery

to the coy whims

of the delicious dianthus of Diana

& the steamy desert rain of

my one & only really enthusiastic love


She bumps me once twice three times

her hand seriously touches down on my head

I open up to her silent decree, her rule over

my thirsty lips, my shattered heart, my

mind’s lowdown dirt-floor cellar


A slip of cloth slips out of the way

I kiss the wet hole of the black buck’s drain

gently, too gently, my tongue reaches forth

tastes the pissy cum in Diana’s wide-open slum

a bullied lamb, I delicately suck-up what’s there


The branding-iron hot hand on the back of my neck

with its serious steering of the ocean-liner

hypnotizes me into surrender & devotion

to her immediate & most powerful pleasure

& I succinctly suck-up what’s there


One thousand & one demonettes of Diana crowd at the gate

bump squirm scream into my mouth, turn into

a cascading waterfall of little-girl dolls down my gulping throat

& I nearly drown in what’s there

eternal slavery to Diana Longtree!


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)



Ghost Face



I look in the mirror

what do I see?

Nothing but what is behind

poor lonesome me


Shoulda coulda woulda

rocketed beyond the veil

but love aglow on Memory Lane

locked-up that idea in jail


Speaking of which, I wonder

how much longer it’s gonna be

before my beloved Diana

comes back home to me


For 4 long nights she’s been

haunting he who killed yours truly

that damned Dart with the baloney heart

has been making her awful squirrely


All I can do is

stare at the empty mirror

wonder what she sees in him

that’s not right here


I guess a man with a face

that grimaces & grins

is better than a ghost who

only stands here & spins


But damn her jezebel eyes

she’s a ghost too

why don’t she come back

be holy, be true?


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)