Rawclyde’s Ranch

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road

http://www.roadmood.com

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campsites

http://www.tallstorycampsites.com

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ghost town

http://aghostttowncalledlove.yolasite.com

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newspaper office

Old Timer Chronicle III

Old Timer Chronicle II

Old Timer Chronicle I

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code room

https://rawclydescoderoom.wordpress.com

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Rawclyde

!

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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!

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

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

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photo

Mila Kunis

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Diana Longtree

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by Rawclyde!

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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

flickering

shadows waltzing

beckoning his eyes to close

~

Diana up there

an invisible cloud full of demonettes & desire

hoovering

awaits awaits

~

To slyly slip like a

secret agent

through the gateway

   of Isom’s dreams…

~

A Ghost Town Called Love

~

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

truth

~

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

“Ready?”

~

She  squeezed my hand

we leaped into the void

ghosts

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

~

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)

~~~

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)

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A Devotional for Diana

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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 trumbone 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 half blind & curly

our kiss thus forever reigns

   and, oh oh, Ishtar locks the chains…

~

(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)

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A sprite minion of the ancient Assyrian goddess Ishtar…

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Table Talk

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~~~

Her foot eventually signals its presence on

the edge of my chair

by means of one whispering tap upon

my ghostly rubies.

~

“I still believe in transient relationships,”

says the newly-arrived shade

of Diana.

“In fact, before he hung me by the neck

until dead from that wearisome tree, the

sheriff & I…”

~

Diana stops talking with

her mouth.

She now talks with

her foot.  Her toes, especially the big one, tell

the torrid tale.

Her heel grinds home the punch line.

~

“The sheriff & you ~ what?”

~

Now her eyes quietly repeat

the confession of lewd debauchery

page after page after page

in about 7 zooming seconds.

~

She smiles.

~

Horrified I howl,

“No, not the sheriff!”

My fist slams down on the table, which

disintegrates into a pile of dust, there in

the broken-down hotel cafe.

~

Diana is standing now, chair discarded.

She steps forward.

Little puffs of dust arise.

“Poor boy.  You’re upset over nothing.”

~

She’s still smiling.  She can’t help it.

~

“Nothing?” I howl ~ still sitting.

~

“Nothing,” she sighs.

She steps closer closer ~ looms

over me like

The Statue of Liberty

come alive & opening her court-room robe.

~

My eyes go cross-eye-ed

and my soul becomes unglued

by the close proximity of the

living tabernacle of the sacred light!

~

(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)

~~~

Diana

~~~

~~~

Realization looms

in her eye

she didn’t wanna

die

but with everything done

and everything said

here she is

dead

&

stuck

oh

fuck

in a ghost town called

Love

~

Who

is to blame?

he’s crossing the street

what’s his name

oh yes

years ago

on memory lane

a favorite ‘bo

now he’s at the door

his steps are slow

he’s in the room

his eyes aglow

in another time & place

she wham-banged his tongue

& yesterday

the fool got her hung

in a strange place called

Love

~

He sits down

they’re eye to eye

he says

“hi”

she says

“why”

he says

“I guess it was mean’t to be”

her eyes

look around regretfully

in this twilight zone called

Love

~

(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)

~~~