back desert trail

~

In a small cafe of this strange strange land, there appeared one day a long-legged, blue-eyed & blond widow of a deceased Papago Indian.  She darted here & there in her new work-place, a timid critter full of curiosity & wonder.

That beauty is gonna give some poor sucker ’round here a real heart thrashing, I thought, as I bit into a burger & gulped down some hot coffee.

Little did I know, that sucker was I.  And little did I suspect that this 42-year-old, chunky-shouldered damsel was the ethereal Desert Goddess ~ personified!

So 48-year-old me wasn’t thinking much about this long-haired blond gal who come to work in the little cafe in the little crossroad where I sold books outta the Book Mule.  I was just minding my own business.  But, as it turned out, I kind of looked like her late husband whose memory she lingered upon, & who had died less than a year before she & I had a conversation or two.  Then I got hoodwinked into going to a birthday party where she showed up.  And then one night I stopped by the bar where she was “grieving” and she bought me a beer.  And then, and thennnnnnn, the desert goddess coyly rubbed up to me as we sat a ponderin’ on our bar-stools.

The next day, there we were in the desert of my dry dusty dreams come true.  I had parked the Book Mule in one of my hideouts that was lost in cacti & solitude.  And two lonesome souls went on a little stroll.

We embraced ~ and I boldly fell to my knees.

As the world turned, the delicious dianthus of my desert delusions decided she didn’t want anybody to know about us ~ because if the Indian clan of her late husband suspected that we were “seeing each other” before her “grieving” year was up they might murder us.  So she decreed that we could not be seen together in public.  Then she declared that I could not talk to her in front of anybody.  Plus, she demanded that I not go see her ~ or even call her.  My beloved would come see me.

So, after she got off work & became properly inebriated at the local saloon, I would on occasion hear her sandals come a crunching in the gravel, in the still nocturnal hours, outside the Book Mule, inside of which I slept ~ in my “monk cell.”  Incidentally, behind this cell, thru a narrow door, was the book store, which was quite original & quite a store.  It’s amazing what you can do with an old one-ton Ford van.  And it’s amazing how elated I became when I heard the gravel crunch outside.  At first barely audible ~ the crunch step by step crunched closer ~ louder louder ~ and then ~

The melancholy voice of the Desert Goddess still reverberates across the Sonoran silent-night of my mind:

“Chewy,

are

you

in

there?”

~

 Slave

to the

Desert Goddess

by Cloyd Campfire

(2000 A.D.)

~ 1 ~

Chewy Sunset, thee
old hobo, knelt at
Her
  nail-cracked sandaled feet ~

Upon that terrain
from which grows
cacti
creosote and mesquite ~

And thru which meanders
jack rabbits, dry washes
& the unpaved
Pipeline Road ~

About a mile from which
this strange drama
did
unfoad…

~

~ 2 ~

Yeeeeeeeap, swathed in
the singing silence &
dry
summer heat ~

Chewy Sunset
knelt at
Her
immaculate feet ~

To pull a thorn
outta
Her
toe ~

After which occurance
Her eyes
magnified their
inherent glow…

~

~ 3 ~

She was divine-
ly
fine-
ly blessed ~

With long legged
long blond
earth-
iness ~

Frill free
Salvation Army fare
was
Her dress ~

Which detracted not
one tithing
from
Her worthiness ~

She wore a crown of
nothing
but memories
of thee humility ~

Of wifehood to
an Indian bully
a-flirt
with criminility ~

While isolated for years
on thee olde
Indian
reservation ~

Now widowhood in
a tiny desert town was
Her
current station ~

A beauty was She
whose child-like
smile
would never grow old ~

She gazed down upon Chew
thru
slashing blue
eyes made bold ~

By his
ob-
vious
dedication ~

To
Her
desert goddess
radiation…

~

~ 4 ~

Her catharsistic eyes
of
splintering
blue ~

Cast
a
paradisical
hue ~

From which
there
was
no escape ~

Across the
arid
land-
scape ~

Yea, these immensely talented
eyes also melted down
the poor
old boy ~

Who had stayed a-kneel
at Her feet
like some kind of
thrift shop toy ~

Yea, Her eyes melted him down
into
the
desert ground ~

‘Til he heard the
desolate land’s
every
sound ~

From deep in a burrow
the snor-
ing of
a squirrel ~

To the dancing vibration
of
a distant
dust devil’s swirl ~

From chanting ants to
a cactus’s
deep
toe-wiggling feet ~

From horizon
to horizon
Her kingdom played
a cacophony replete ~

Chewy fanned out deep
into the terra firma ’til
he be-
come a part of it all ~

A new mineral deposit en-
slaved to the
Desert Goddess’s
siren call…

~

~ 5 ~

Yeeeeeeeap, there
Chewy Sunset lay
gravel buffed by wind
dirt fine as dust ~

A real part of
the land
or
bust ~

A rattlesnake limp in the
heat, crawled across the spot
looking
for shade ~

The Desert Goddess crushed
the critter’s head with
Her foot
n’ silently bade ~

Them both not to follow
Her and
walking on air
She wandered away ~

Then toward
the end
of
the day ~

Quite a few
miles
a-
way ~

She entered the
local saloon
to
slay ~

An endless thirst
and an endless sorrow
for the end of which
Chewy doth pray.

~

~

photos

Raquel Welch

~

(text copyright Clyde Collins 2012, 2017)

~

Back Desert Trail

http://backdeserttrail.yolasite.com/we-the-people.php

~

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kiss of democracy theatre III

Tanya R as Col Sheena J

She Who Is Obeyed

~

by Rawclyde!

2014

~

After about 6 weeks of boot camp

us new recruits of 1st Platoon got our 1st break

in the barracks dayroom for 3 hours

Sheena showed up with a joint for her & I to share

~

Outside we ducked thru a wooden door below the building

The floor was dirt, the ceiling low, the walls unpainted

In the darkness the match flared

Sheena’s face flashed forth that of Saint Joan of Arc!

~

Stunned, I took a toke, Saint Joan, she cracked a joke

Thoroughly stoned we levitated into the dayroom

sat quietly on a plastic couch

1st Platoon spastically whirled around us

~

Over-wired by 6 weeks of boot camp

All the worthless bums were soldiers now

Hair cropped, grins big, suddenly too healthy to relax

While Sheena & I sat silently stoned, watching

~

Pool balls cracked & ricocheted

Dumb jokes splattered, laughter clattered

Sheena lifted her fatigues, made me kiss her tummy

In full view of all those raw recruits

~

Her warm belly-button sucked me into Afghaneeland

Mission Impossible become a dreamy Betty Boop slope

In a slobbery Tora Bora cave I become a slippery slave

Swallowing the orders & commands of Col. Sheena Johnson!

~

starring Tanya Roberts

text copyright Clyde Collins 2014

~

http://saintjoanofarcreincarnatedalmanac.yolasite.com/Afghaneeland-I.php

~

welcome

~

hello butler

~

till your hair is white

ye shall

cultivate my grounds

be wary

harsh I am to the

undisciplined

the senseless do not stay with

me for long

I will weigh as heavily on the

senseless as a grindstone

I am Sofia

goddess of wisdom &

 I am true to my name

I am not accessible to many

listen

eunuch

!

take my advice

do not reject my counsel

put your feet into my fetters

& your neck into my collar

offer your skinny shoulder to my burden

do not be impatient of my bonds

court me with all your soul

& with all your might keep in

my ways

once you kneel before me

I will not let you

go

I hope

you are possessed by me

my property

in the end you will find rest in

me

& I will take the form of joy

for you

my fetters you will find

hasty pasty & tasty

my collar a precious necklace

my yoke will be a golden ornament

& my bonds be purple ribbons

you will wear me like a robe of

honor

you will put me on like a crown

of joy

!

entering barda

~

sofia is brilliant she never fades

by those who love her she is readily

found

she anticipates those who desire her

by making herself known first

whoever gets up early to seek her

will have no trouble

but will find her sitting at the door

~

~

meditating on her is understanding

in its perfect form

and anyone keeping awake for her

will soon be free from care

for she herself searches everywhere

for those who are worthy of

her

benevolently appearing to them on

their ways

anticipating their every thought

for wisdom begins with the sincere

desire for instruction

care for instruction means loving

sofia

~

~

text by king solomon & elvis bojangles

art by kaleya at deviantart

& the strange design is by an anonymous artist

~

knock knock:

http://www.uscatholic.org/church/scripture-and-theology/2008/07/desperately-seeking-sophia

~

seeking sofia

~

by

solomon

&

bojangles

~

sofia is a spirit friendly

to humanity

though she will not let a

blasphemer’s words go

unpunished

~

her jealous ear overhears

everything

not even a murmur of complaint

escapes her

~

so beware of uttering frivolous

complaints

butler

restrain your tongue from finding

fault

even what is said in secret has

repercussions

& a lying mouth deals death to your

soul

~

blessed be ye

eunuch

whose hand

commits no crime

& who harbors no resentment

against her wisdoms

a special favor will be granted to

you for your loyalty

a most desirable portion in her

temple

~

~

origin:

the book of wisdom

jerusalem bible

art:

time machine minority media

mario837 deviantart

editor:

elvis bojangles

~