happy easter

~

God this, God that, God everything & damn it too

the end of reality’s trail & everything else that’s true

the last frontier of hard facts and how-do-you-do’s

I stood on a hill in deep desert & all I had was ‘de blues

~

Find yourself a woman, lad, and work for a living too

make sure she’s a good woman who will always stand by you

raise some kids or corn and ply your trade on the avenue

or you’ll end up standing amongst the cacti with nothing else to do

~

I stood there hard and long concentrating on every thorn

but no angel arrived blowing music on a golden horn

all was quiet but a little wind, no birds, just some ants

crawlin’ around aimlessly lookin’ for someone with whom to dance

~

I trudged back to the truck, crunching the desert turf along the way

opened the doors to the book-store in the rear without much to say

figured I’d sell a book or two if a miracle happened to stray

but there was nobody around but me on this fine lonely day

~

Nobody but a million catatonic cacti with not much to offer but a thorn

stretching off into the distance come evening and come morn

I sat in the wind & the blood of my brain ~ t’was a mournful song

and then, and then, suddenly, a rabbit come lopin’ along

~

T’was the biggest I’d ever seen, about the size of a dog

a jack rabbit who fit no-ways in any kind of catologue

he wasn’t at all shy like other rabbits in other scenes

when he stopped & asked me, “Have you got any books on human beings?”

~

Stunned, I replied, “I have books on coyotes and snakes

cacti, deserts, rivers, God and whatever it takes

to get along with anything including killer bees

but, but all I have on human beings are fantasies”

~

The rabbit sadly bowed his head, loped away and disappeared

I said to a fly buzzing around my hat, “that was really weird”

closed up the store, bent low to tie one of my worn-out shoes

climbed behind the wheel, bumped on outta them deep desert blues…

~

from the out-of-print book

A Love Song To The American Lizard

by Rawclyde!

alias 

Elvis Bojangles

(Copyright Clyde Collins 1999)

~

Madam Beloved’s

shrine

http://spiritdameshrine.yolasite.com

~

aye! a wayward wind

~

The wayward wind is a restless wind
A restless wind that yearns to wander
And she was born the next of kin
The next of kin to the wayward wind

~

~

In a lonely shack by a railroad track
She spent her younger days
And I guess the sound of the outward-bound
Made her a slave to her wand’rin ways

~

~

And the wayward wind is a restless wind
A restless wind that yearns to wander
And she was born the next of kin
The next of kin to the wayward wind

~

~

Oh I met her there in a border town
She vowed we’d never part
Though she tried her best to settle down
I’m now alone with a broken heart

~

~

And the wayward wind is a restless wind
A restless wind that yearns to wander
And she was born the next of kin
The next of kin to the wayward wind

~

~

The

next

of

kin

to

the

wayward

wind

~

~

song

Herbert Newman & Stanley R. Lebowsky

art

James Roderick

Clyde Caldwell

& Kaleya

beautiful models anonymous

editor

Elvis Bojangles

~

your darkness my sun

~

your ancestors got the ghost on the run

your best friends are dropping by for fun

as you contemplate purchasing a gun

let your darkness, my dear, be my sun

~

such a dank dweller under a sliver of moon

unable to find your silver spoon

disabled by the great baboon

let us build a little fire in this dark lagoon

~

go ahead, roast a marshmello

i’ll open the canteen

god bless your happy-face hello

& you know exactly what i mean

~

we’re not playing tootsies

we’re not slaying teddy bears

we’re getting older by the minute

as we navigate the starry stairs

~

the ducks quack in the pond

your cups crack in the cupboard

the street is crawling like a snake

have no fear, my dear, it’s time to bake

~

ah yes, your birthday cake!

flour & water & sugar

lots of vanilla frosting on top

oh when when will we stop?

~

i mean this is our favorite month

saint despair breathes down the back of your neck

mister despicable lunges for your hand

but i shall shield you with holy word

~

your ancestors got ’em on the run

your best friends are coming over for some fun

here’s a pocket full of bullets for your new gun

your darkness, dear friend, my sun

!

elvis bojangles

~

art

anonymous

text

copyright clyde collins 2017

~

Madam Beloved

from elvis bojangles

~

i am gonna praise ye ’til i am no’ mo’

every inch o’ yer mind body & so’

tho’ ye already tell me up n’ go

ye still be meeeeeee supreme sisbo’

~

~

I be beside you while you plow

I hold the pail when you milk the cow

the coyote on the hill that how’

is me spirit lovin’ ye’ somehow

~

~

the 13-year-old with the 22 rifle

ain’t shooting anymo’ dove

trilling above

’cause it be you he love

~

~

n’ ye old man is praying & staying

under the radar all night long

cause he a ding dong dat belong

to she who so long ago say sooooooo-long

~

~

i am gonna praise ye ’til i am no’ mo’

every inch o’ yer mind body & so’

tho’ ye already tell me up n’ go

ye still be these grounds’ supreme sisbo’

~

~

model

http://www.renaraqsfitness.com

photos

http://www.kimste.com

text copyright clyde collins 2016

http://spiritdameshrine.yolasite.com/Living-Tabernacle-of-Divine-Light.php

~