moonlight gambler


 can gamble for matchsticks

you can gamble for gold

the stakes may be heavy or small

but if you haven’t gambled for

love & lost

then you haven’t gambled at all



in heaven with Diana

by rawclyde!


Here in Heaven it is Sunday morning and time to go to Church.  The front door is open. Outside the birds are chirping and the bells are ringing.  I am wearing my grey top hat and dressed swank on the edge of the couch ~ waiting for Diana.  We’ve been married for about half a year.  It’s absolutely ridiculous how happy we are.

She twirls into the living room and stands in front of me.  She loves to stand in front of me when I’m sitting down ~ especially when she’s naked.  I love it too because she’s beautiful and she’s my wife.  But why is she naked now?  And what is that on top of her head?

“I’m ready,” she says.

“You’re naked,” says I.  “How can you be ready when you’re naked?”  I’m looking up at her pretty startled.  The contraption draped over her head has eyes and claws and lots of fur.  It looks like the skin of a wild raccoon.  “And what’s that on top of your head?”

“Uncle Davy gave me this.  C’mon.  Let’s go.”  She lifts my hand in her very warm one and in her gentle way pulls me up off the couch and toward the door.

“Hold it!” I protest as I abruptly stop in my tracks.  I shut the door, accidentally slamming it.  Obviously I’m losing my cool and on the verge of causing a scene, which doesn’t really matter because we’re home alone.  We’re still holding hands.

Thank God we’re holding hands.  But are we going to make it to Church this morning?  Diana’s point-blank emerald eyes are killing me.  She raises one smooth shoulder like it is the “good morning” sun ~ a few inches from my chin.  Meanwhile my knees are beginning to wobble and I am on the verge of kneeling before we even get to Church!

Jesus Christ have mercy…



So here stand Diana and I holding hands in the living room on Sunday morning.  Our house is not on planet Earth.  Our house is in Heaven.  And our honeymoon is endless.

“Now, baby, now,” whimper I to my Diana.  She’s my beautiful wife.  And I am so lucky ~ oops, I mean blessed!  I say to her, “You gotta put on a dress if we’re going to Church today.”

“We’re in Heaven, Clyde,” says Diana.  “We can go to Church naked if we want.”  I almost believe her.  The way she is holding my hand, the way the green green grass of home ricochets in her eyes, the way her sacred body emits its glow and warmth ~ all this, everything in the universe, tells me to believe her.

My knees are more and more wobbly.  I have a bottomless craving to kneel before we even get to Church.  Jesus please have mercy on my soul.  I want to kneel in front of my wife!  “C’mon, Diana, please.  Please go put on a dress.  We’re going to be late.”

I am dressed swank ~ really swank.  I’m even wearing my grey top hat.  I am ready for Church.  But Diana ~ my long legged, green eye-ed darling…

“Why? Why, Diana?  Why are you doing this?”

She’s not totally naked.  She’s got the pelt of a raccoon draped over her head.  Something her Uncle Davy gave her.  It’s paws hang down to either side a bit past her neck, intimate pals with her gold-streaked hair.  If they hung down any further their claws would be resting upon her delightfully elongated boom booms.  She shrugs in reply to my exasperated questioning.  And my wife says, “I am a forest priestess.  What do you expect?  Look into my eyes.”  She steps closer than she already is and, with her breezy breath fanning my inflamed face, whispers, “Look deep.”

The head of the raccoon pelt, its nose sticking out a little over Diana’s forehead, its little marble eyes staring off into space, is perched up there like a baseball cap.  But forget that furry thing!

I lose myself in Diana’s cathedral windows.  A point-blank reflection of Heaven is in there.  She let’s go my hand and her fingernails etch a trail up my sleeve.  She rests the fingertips of her magic hands on the tops of my ears.  Like I’m a steering wheel.

I kneel.


text copyright clyde collins 2017

from old timer chronicle

photo courtesy of fashion tadpole:

art courtesy of krystleyez:


kiss of democracy theatre II


A Love Story

Clyde Collins


A place of ultimate contentment, the Pure Zone, existed in a corner of the mind of PFC Donald Duty, inspiration specialist, Poetics Lab.

In this Pure Zone between his ears, there blew a gentle cool breeze over a limitless field of green, green grass.  The grass cheerfully, constantly waved “howdy” while an infinite herd of fat cows, dumb and content, munched on it.  The sun always shined.  It never rained.  There were no flies or cow paddies.

Somewhere in the midst of the lackadaisical cows, under a tree on a small knoll, Duty and Sp5 Denise Daisy, assistant ward master, Ward Pluto, sat together.  They sat upon a colorful, smartly designed, afghan blanket knitted by Duty’s grandma in another age.  In the Pure Zone of the PFC’s mind, he and Daisy picnicked eternally.

When the cows mooed, they did so in cohesive chorus and created the ultimate melody.  Occasionally a bird perched itself on a branch of the tree on the little knoll and chirped, which did nothing but add even more charm to the scene.

Not too far away was Duty’s hometown, Buttermilk, Kan.  But nobody could reach Daisy and Duty because the cow herd, being infinite, surrounded everything.

The Pure Zone in Duty’s head was largely responsible for the charismatic grin that was always (well, almost always) dancing around on his face as he accomplished mission after mission at Tripler Army Medical Center.

However, in actuality Daisy married Sgt. Mickey Kandoo, bad dude, 25th Infantry Division, Schofield Barracks.  She moved out of the TAMC barracks to live with her infantryman in Aliamanu Military Reservation (AMR).  When she did this, Duty’s Pure Zone was shattered.

Duty could not sleep.  Duty could not eat.  One day at noon a few weeks after her wedding, in the TAMC dining facility, Daisy happened to notice that her little buddy looked like death warmed over.  She parked her tray of good Army chow on the table next to Duty’s and said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” moaned Duty.

“What’s wrong, Donald?” she inquired with a deep furrow of sincerity upon her brow.  “You look like death warmed over.”

Duty tried to swallow a mouth full of fresh buttered peas and coughed it up.  “I’m sorry, Denise.  Ever since you got married I haven’t been able to eat or sleep.  I guess I love you.  But since you got married there’s nothing I can do about it except roll over and die.”

“Oh Donald,” said Daisy in a barely audible whisper.  Tears suddenly sparkled in the corners of her eyes.  She was speechless for a long moment.  Finally under the table her hand touched Duty’s hand and squeezed it.  This was the only time Daisy and Duty had ever touched.  “You’re the best friend I have,” said Daisy.

The juices in the PFC’s brain gushed like a refreshing cloudburst and in the Pure Zone a single flower radiantly bloomed.  He attacked the peas on his plate with a new fervor and successfully swallowed every one.

“Oh boy, am I hungry!” grinned Duty.



kiss of democracy theatre

The Living Legend Of

Jesusita & Padre Gallegos

by Cloyd Campfire

El padre of 
La Villa de 
Padre Gallegos 
was he 
 was he  
mucha bonita 
widowed & free 
of Padre Gallegos 
was she, was she  
Together they lived 
in thee adobe 
labyrinthine rectory 
And together 
they lived happy 
& comfortably 
Isolated & 
surrounded by 
wild hostility  
Was the humble 
a-crumble New Mexico 
of years  
There were 
folk cures 
When Jesusita 
took a 
spoonful of one 
She become beautiful 
forever like the 
rising & setting sun  
She never cried 
she never died 
now she do abide 
In the world of 
today ~ el diablo’s 
delectable bride  
Padre Gallegos 
like everyone else 
sooner or later died 
Padre Gallegos though 
his soul wouldn’t go 
to el grande other side
a ghost 
The Host 
But most 
of all 
he haunts the trail  
Of the eternal beauty 
whom he loves 
   Jesusita his holy grail…


staring Richard Burton & Raquel Welch

(text copyright Clyde Collins 2017)



prairie dog blues

by elvis bojangles


back in the desert

that won’t go away

that desert o’ mind

forever to stay


platonic man dwells

a dream full o’ love

in a comfy bag on the ground

clouds n’ stars up above


he dwells upright

beside a friend

they’re tilling her grounds

a dream with no end


something stirs him

platonic man awakes

what’s that noise

it cannot be snakes


eyes open wide

the ground shakes

a geyser of dirt shoots up

gravel clods flakes


A little head pops up

outta the ground

it’s the shape-shifter prairie dog

in the dark comin’ around


she says, “have you any

toilet paper, butler?”

the tricks of the night will never

get more subtler


text copyright clyde collins 2017