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

!

Tryst With The Planet Dominatrix

love-peace-freedom

A humble village girl…

~~~

by Cloyd Campfire

~~~

Lots of people have Holy Mary stories to tell. Something happens & they blame Holy Mary ~ as if a miracle occurred. These stories are always true. But not everybody believes the Mother of Jesus Christ has anything to do with them. These kind of people believe the storyteller is just fooling him or herself. But what do these non-believers know?

I was almost broke in San Diego, jewel by the sea. I was sitting in my humble comfortable little monk cell. I was partaking in a half-pint of Jim Beam that, mixed with a cold can of coca-cola, became a fine thirst-quencher in my cup ~ and a bountiful blossom of bold thought in my brain. It turned out that this blooming thought was, “I can’t find a job, but I’ll be dog-gone if I’m gonna go broke in this dog-gone city.”

Outside the sky was baby blue. The bay was deep buffalo blue. The grass was conspicuously green. The park was a rhyme mover. Sea-gulls dipped and children skipped. And in this beautiful month of May, late ‘90s, I was not going to go broke in San Diego.

I, the Book Man, flipped the flap & flopped into the driver’s seat of the sand-storm brown, with dusty blue trim, Book Mule ~ painted thusly a few years back with a brush. I drove to the liquor store. I bought another half-pint with the last of my coin.

The one-ton had a little more or less than a quarter tank of gas. Rush hour was perking up. It was time to get out of town. Again. My real & only career seemed to be to leave my hometown. Again. And again.

My father used to tell me to quit writing about myself. When he was on his death-bed I asked him what I should write about. “High school,” he said. “What about high school?” I asked. “All of it,” growled the going, going, soon to be gone, arthritic, old electrician. Fat chance I’m going to write all about high school. I have to tell one more tale about this extraordinary mobile book-store ~ and t’was me who was driving it.

There was a plateau on the other side of the bay, a-top which stood a Catholic university. I detoured up that-o-way to scribble thru one more job application ~ for groundsman ~ furiously slammed the door on my way out. I’m sure a secretary somewhere wrote in a margin somewhere that I’d been drinking. Oh well. I don’t condone such indulgence. It just happens to be part of the story ~ this desperate escapade. The detour up to the university’s employment office was a last-ditch effort before I totally gave-up looking for work in a hoity-toity, snooty, jewel by the sea. Consider this detour the last offering in an ongoing unanswered prayer.

As I poked along in rush-hour traffic on Interstate 8, up to the City of El Cajon, my eyes snared a gracious gift to a desperado. T’was a residential avenue ~ perhaps ten-miles long ~ straight as an arrow ~ heading into the hills! Obviously, this was meant to be.

I glided up this street thru yellow traffic lights, onto a roly-poly back-highway, thru chapperal & granite boulders, passing by & by cock-a-doodle-dooo-ing country homes. I had made it out of town. Thank God. I mean, by “out of town,” out of general urban sprawl.

I rode into the night, leaning this way, leaning that way, upon the roly-poly country road ‘til there were less n’ less country homes. The world turned darker, darker. The engine coughed. I knew what that mean’t ~ out of gas. The van (which I always called a truck ’cause that’s what it looked like) coasted into a fair clearing on the other side of the road. With headlights eyeball to eyeball with a fence post, the engine died. I tapped the lights off, locked the doors. I would sleep here tonight, where-ever here might be.

With the vents open ofcourse, I cooked a bite o’ dinner on the portable one-burner propane stove. One lit candle was all I needed to get my mind to rove. It looked as if my desert excuse was slippin’ out from under me. It looked as if I was gonna take a hike & abandon thee. Ohhhhhhh holy temple Mary, whyyyyyyy am I so contrary? What is gonna be? What is gonna beeeeeee?

In the pretty country morning, birds a-tweeter, occasional car rolling by, I decided to do what I always do. Rather than take a hike, I opened the book-store. Lo’ & behold, let me tell you about the book-store.

If you stood in the middle of the store & twirled, it was a first-class trip. But before you stepped up into this engulfing emporium of poetics & tall tales, explanations & histories, journeys & higher realms ~ before you stepped up the two irrigation-valve covers that served as steps ~ you might note that smiling down upon you in an inviting subtle manner was a portrait of none other than ~ Holy Mary. She was a ways back but right in front of you, on the narrow plywood door that led into the monk cell & book-storage area. More than one customer had actually kissed this framed picture of ~ the Queen of love, the Queen of mercy, the Queen of peace, the Queen of angels.

In front of this picture, the tilted-back, pine-wood shelves full of volumes to ponder, ranged themselves to the left & to the right & moseyed up to you on both interior sides of the box. By the way, you entered at the rear, where the two backdoors were thrown open & stabilized on crooked paloverde sticks & if the wind was up, tied down.

So come on in, affable patron. Don’t be shy, just watch your step & don’t bump your head if you’re over 6-feet tall. Here, let me give you a hand if you’re over 70 or a fair damsel. Oh! Let me tie your shoe. Would you like a cup o’ hot coffee? I just brewed a pot. Want some whiskey in it?

Welcome to the Holy Mary shrine ~ of flighty devotionals, desert mirage gathering, Indian star walking, & western paperback pulp.

I, a younger brother of Rita, the middle brother ‘tween Mike & Pete, contrived this thing probably because our own beloved Ma had died not too long before these glory a-bump times. In fact, it was my share of the selling of Ma’s house that payed for the truck & the initial foundation of books, not to mention a new radiator, u-joint, etc.

I must also gratefully acknowledge that yours truly had gotten a lot of help from a good friend & his good neighbor, in the construction of this humble happening. Thank you, Karl & Billy-Bob!

Individual spirituality can be simple, strait forward, unresearched. Or you can delve deeply. Monolithical religions like Christianity, Islam, & Budhism, provide road maps. Sometimes books do too. Where do these road maps lead? To your own mystical experience of LOVE, of course! Plus, you get to greet the infinite mystery of God Almighty!! You might even become a Renaissance Prince!!!

If you’re lucky.

Anyway, some school kids skipped past the stranded Book Mule, said they’d come back later.

I brewed a pot of coffee, had a cup. Time passed. I was lounging in the monk cell, working myself up into a fatalistic, head-nodding doze, when somebody outside smoothly warbled, “Knock knock, anybody home?”

I got up to greet whoever. “Hello,” cock-a-doodle-dooed I to a tall gentleman younger than myself, as I bumbled out my cell’s narrow door into the book-store.

He stepped up the steps & bought 4 or 5 of the more practical books on display, cheaply priced, for 6 or 8 buckeroos all together. The store was not amply stocked. It was time for me to buy more books. That’s why I was in need of a job. Please, please, curious reader, do not question my business sense. I have no answers.

I asked the customer about work in these parts. He said he didn’t know of any. I wondered outloud about a chicken ranch on the other side of a rise, which I had spotted a moment before yesterday evening’s landing. He crowed, “Might be a possibility of employment there. I don’t know.”

I happened to inform him that I was out of gas. He informed me that he happened to have a full 5-gallon can in the bed of his hefty red pick-up, parked next to the Book Mule.

“Well shucks, now I have just enough money to buy that 5-gallons of gas from you,” I chortled.

He hummed & hawed, then stepped toward a particular book that had been patiently waiting for a long time to be bought.

The smooth-sailing stranger caw-ed, “I have a sister who is crazy about Mother Mary. I mean, my sister is a total devotee. She has a picture of Mother Mary with a candle infront of her ~ on a little altar in her room.” He smiled broadly as he explained, “And the candle’s always lit.”

He pulled out the book he’d been side-stepping toward. It was the fattest tome that I possessed concerning the Mystical Rose, the Morning Star, the Refuge of sinners.

The tome, the tome ~ t’was an abridgement of a 20-volume biography of the Mother of Jesus, divinely revealed to a 15th-Century Spanish nun, Sister Mary Agreta. It was a beautiful piece of writing, beautifully translated. “My sister would really like this,” said the young feller.

Incidently, according to legend, Sister Mary Agreta visited the Pima Indians up & down the Gila River in Arizona way before Padre Kino set foot thar. How’ed she get thar? T’was via a spiritual avenue.

The tome cost 7 dollars.

“You can have it for all the gas in that can in the back of your truck,” chirped I.

“It’s a deal,” the stranger piped. (What are we, birds?)

Now, here comes the funny, the peculiar, the eye-blinking part of this yarn: T’wasn’t but two minutes after the stranger emptied the can of gas into my empty tank & left, that a cop pulled over & told me I also had to leave. Hmmmmmmm.

This makes me wonder. Did the Mother of God want this rolling so-called shrine not to be abandoned? So, thusly, did she in actuality intervene with a little bumpity bump nudge ~ to get the thirsty tank quenched in the nick of time? Or, in reality, was the visit by the kind feller before the policeman’s arrival just chance?

Holy Mother of Divine Grace, Mother most pure, Mother of good counsel, may I be your unworthy, worthless slave for the rest of my life!

Unto eternity.

When I reached a filling station, I spent all my recent earnings on gas, which allowed the Book Mule to hee-haa all the way up to Mount Laguna, where a friend o’ mine set me to raking leaves. Great huge piles of leaves, I raked & wheel-barreled them away from his cabin for days, so that his rustic abode was less likely to burn down that summer. He payed me. And I drove away ~ back to San Diego.

I asked a happy couple I knew, if I could use their phone & kitchen table for a few days, in that democratic jubilant jewel by the sea. They said, “Yes.”

Within a week I had a job ~ a grounds job ~ that lasted all the way up ’til Christmas.

~~~

http://aghostttowncalledlove.yolasite.com

~~~

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

~

She

crooned

soothingly

~

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

& 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

saluted

cah cah cah cahhhhhhh

!

~

(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)

~~~

Immaculate Heart…

~~~

“My soul doth magnify the Lord…”

~~~

“He hath regarded the humility of His handmaiden…”

~~~

“He that is mighty hath done great things to me…”

~~~

“His mercy is from generation unto generation upon them who fear Him…”

~~~

“And the rich He hath sent empty away…”

~

(quotes from Mary’s Song or The Magnificat in the Holy Bible ~ Luke 1: 46-55)

~~~

http://www.communityofhopeinc.org

~~~

Almost high noon…

~~~

~~~

I tap tramp trail

selfish soiled slothful ~ won’t

even do a labor job

on the horizon something better gets closer

~

Yuma ingrown

not too friendly

charitably

feeds me

~

Jesus is

the company

I seek

in my unapproachable way

~

A cute chubby little blessing

crossing the street

smiles & gives

me the time of day

~

And in the ghost town of

my mind

a hammer is heard

hitting a nail

~

The Wall Street Occupiers

& The Tea Party

have started rebuilding

Mary’s Saloon

~

Where she continues

to

serve

shots of pure grace

~

Ahhhhhhh grace

the ability

to do

good deeds

~

Down the tracks

a shrill whistle

blows &

a train approaches

~

Bringing us the next

President

of

   the United States…

~

(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)

~~~

Another High Noon (#4)

~~~

  ~~~

I could not fathom, I did not understand

how a gun turned into a joint in the old fat man’s hand

his cowboy hat was crooked, his leg was lame

   his “I hate Obama” sign was a dirty rotten shame…

~

His partners also aimed & fired at The Occupiers

who rejoiced with rhapsody to see

in each Tea Party man’s hand a lit doobie ready to toke

   & a bunch of pistolas that were now a splatter like egg yoke…

~

I could not fathom, I did not see

how any of this could be

then I spun around & gawked at Mary

she was laughing somewhat heartily!

~

And the barmaid explained:

~

“Poor Rawclyde

you’re such a perplexed ghost

I prayed for harmony

  & my famous Son answered me!”

~

(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)

~~~

Differences & similarities ‘tween the Tea Party and the Occupiers of Wall Street:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kent-greenfield/tea-party-occupy-wall-street_b_1065717.html

~~~

Another High Noon (#1)

~~~

~~~

T’was bad ground & holy ground

in this American ghost town

in which the haunted saloon whistled its tune

which sounded forth shrilly especially around high noon…

~

There was no more whiskey

no more tables no more chairs

one wall was missing & half the roof

dust was thick where a rooster roosted

I wobbled on the last stool at the counter

Holy Mary the barmaid poured me a shot

a shot of grace

& I gulped it down.

~

In one corner stood some Tea-Party fumblers

in another some Occupy-Wall-Street tumblers

all were a-worry over the top 10% of the rich paying a fair share

but the flapping of the right & the rapping of the left

these wingers of the left & the right

never got together & that afternoon was icy as dark dark night

here

in the ghost town called Love.

~

There’s bad ground & holy ground

in this American ghost town

where the haunted saloon whistles its windy tune

which sounds forth so shrilly especially around high noon…

~

(Copyright Clyde Collins 2011)

~~~

Back In The Haunted Saloon

~~~

~~~

I strolled back to the haunted saloon

arrived floating

swung the bat-wings aside

one fell off its hinge, disintegrated

into a pile of dust as

the winged-heels of my hiking boots fluttered by

what a relief

finally floating after all these earth-bound years

“I’ll have a double” said I

to the barmaid, Mary

ahhhhhhh Mary

Holy Mary

our favorite Mary

   amen & hallelujah…

~

(Copyright Clyde Collins 2011)

~~~