Pow Wow

Indian Legacy

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A Real Hungry Mountain Lion

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She’s Taking Over

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Old Friends

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Impotence

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Settling Down

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New Friend

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Pow Wow

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Col. Sheena Johnson

~~~

by Rawclyde!

~~~

One girl-soldier on my crew fought off

5 wanna-be rapists in her platoon

Killed them & did not get caught

Her blood-lust knew no bounds when it came to the Taliban

~

500 mysteriously disappeared while she ranged around

Out of uniform for one month in northeast Afghanistan

After which she was promoted to Colonel

This included 3 Waziristan villages that she leveled

(Nobody knows how and, anyway, it’s just a rumor)

~

She was assigned to nurture an ill-conceived outpost

Deep in the mountains, so deep it scratched the back

Of Pakistan & consequently was doomed until

She got there & winked at her suddenly happy soldiers

~

They got so charged-up just looking at her

They paved a crumbling rock road with asphalt

For 100 miles before lunch time & without a break

Nobody but one village urchin knows where they got the asphalt

~

Then one freezing morning she & her sparse gear were gone

The outpost fell into an endless & bottomless depression

Until they found a dead Talib with an arrow in his back

Suddenly they knew ~ the Colonel wasn’t gone at all

~

Now the soldiers at this craven location pull guard duty

With smiles on their faces & joy in their hearts

‘Cuz every so often when least expected they catch a glimpse

     Col. Sheena Johnson stalking Taliban in the snarky shadows…

~

excerpt from

the

2014

epic

Afghaneeland

(free read)

~

Green Beer At The Long Bar

~

     Road was in a gray mood ~ as gray as a sky that doesn’t know whether to rain or not.  Road was home ~ and lost.  He was always lost when he was home ~ and he hated it.

     There was something bad within himself that his hometown, San Diego, reflected ~ God knows what.

     Maybe it was love ~ flustered.

     Road had a foolosophy.  He didn’t believe in philosophies ~ only foolosophies ~ and he had one all his own.  His foolosophy was, if you can’t beat ’em, don’t join ’em either ~ but run like hell.

     That was Road’s damnation.  When he couldn’t beat home, wouldn’t join up with its forces, he’d run like hell ~ for the Long Bar south of the border, in Tijuana, Meh-hee-ko.

     The Long Bar on Revolution Avenue in Tijauna is a long bar in a long room, tables down the middle, booths along the wall opposite the bar.  It’s the longest bar in the world ~ and the best, as far as Road was concerned.

     There’s a lot of earth poetry in the Long Bar.  It bubbles in the green tinted beer and the Mexican waiter’s frown.  It’s in the rest room where the old rest room hombre will fix you up for a tip ~ with carefully horded toilet paper if you need it.  But only for a tip.  It’s in the live Mexican music (with trumpets), the mesh of border town slop culture, and carved into the wood of all the booths by a thousand un-stable-ed hands ~ young hands, old hands, bald eagle just out of boot camp hands, queer hands, little girl hands, bad dude hands, AWOL hands, rambling hands, stuck hands, dropped out hands, student hands, Latin hands, whore hands, too many virgin hands, and many drunk hands, carving with a coin’s edge, pocket knife, ball point pen, or finger nail, the message ~ “I’ve been here, Momma.  I’ve been here, Momma Earth.  My tongue’s getting dirty, but your blood tastes so good.  Your Mexican beer blood!”

     “And everybody is a Mexican,” said one of the 6 little women drinking beer with Road.  “Everybody in the whole world!”

     “Right on!” answered a handsome young Mexican hombre in the next booth.  He toasted the pretty blond senorita from the United States.

     She was fourteen.

     Road was no longer in a gray mood.  His mood was now black ~ with glory and a grin.  Yes, black ~ with a full moon ~ a full moon with a full night ~ a night full of stars ~

     And 6 young ladies he’d brought down to Tijuana ~ for the first time, it seemed, in their lives ~ loose!

     “Freedom is dangerous,” said Maggie, fourteen years old, gulping her beer.

     “Life is dangerous too,” said Judy (or was her name Jill?), who was, with a slurp, also 14 years old.

     “I wanna live,” proclaimed matter of factly the daintiest yet oldest of them all, Emile, 18 years old, who didn’t drink, she said once, and now was drunk.

     “We wanna live,” corrected sweet Sue, thirteen, and on her way to the bottom of another glass of frothy beer.

     “We’re Mexicans,” laughed Mary, the pretty blond who’d spoken earlier of Mexicans.  She felt a refreshing numb ting in her flushed, long yellow hair mopped cheeks.

     “Right on, senorita!” exclaimed the same Mexican in the next booth.  He was liking her more and more.  Her and his eyes ricocheted twinkling stars that needed no words ~ just bad jokes.

     “I’m too old to be down here,” laughed Morena, also fourteen, cheeks also numb, and a real bad joke just about to dance on her tongue.  “I’ve got beer on my thumb,” she laughed.

     These 6 girls, with their blooming bodies of bouncy bosom truth, could’ve passed for 25 years old ~ if need be.

     In the Long Bar ~ there was no need.  Road got up and bought two more pitchers of beer.  15 minutes later they were empty and he bought two more.

     One by one the girls teeter tottered out of the booth to visit the ladies room at the other end of the bar.  And teeter tottered back into the booth ~ flushed, whimsical ~ as the peoples of thee booths n’ tables n’ longest bar in the world chortled their admiration.  Everybody knew what was happening.

     The miracle of little girl growth was being anointed ~ and celebrating the womanhood that could not be denied ~ in their eyes and desires ~ lusting thighs and yearning minds ~ for God n’ life n’ love ~

     And fucking.

     They were ready to start fucking with it all ~ ’til they were part of it all ~ or die trying.

     Road sat back in the chair facing this booth, its beer splotched beer dripping table, its 6 patriot heroines of the Long Bar pitcher of soapy suds with a green tint.  This was the greatest.  When he’d picked up 14 year old Mary hitch-hiking on El Gringo Boulevard, and her thigh bumped his when the truck bumped a bump ~ He knew in his gray mood that he’d do anything ~ especially go to County Jail ~ for jail bait!

     They both knew in the moment of that thigh touching, eye opening bump, the time had come.

     And piss on Tulip!

     Road gently jumped on the blond pretty and too young but so what Mary.  Her creamy warm shoulders smothered him into her own entity ~ and she gently jumped back ~ in the rear of Road’s truck ~ parked on the side of the street.

     For virgin stomping celebration, the two of them rounded up as many of Mary’s girl friends as they could find.  They crossed the border where young ‘uns can drink legally ~ and that evening Road anointed the whole group with beer and cheers ~ to life in the Long Bar.

     Run run, Road, run run!

     He stretched his arms.  Thru his reddened but bright eyes, Road squinted up at the ceiling, thoughtfully studied it.

     “You know something,” he said ~ and 6 pert charming heads turned his way and listened.  “All those old times I spent drinking down here, I thought Long Bar beer was tinted green because it was the cheapest dirtiest of beers.  But that isn’t why it’s green.”  He raised his glass and swallowed a good amount.  “It’s the reflection from the ceiling!”

     Maggie, Judy (or Jill?), Emile, Morena, sweet Sue, and Mary tilted their heads heaven bound ~ and sure enough, the ceiling was green.

~

excerpt from the

1973

tall

story

Road’s Cannon

(free read)

~

artwork courtesy of Sayara S

http://sayara-s.deviantart.com/art/Comission06-310348443

(free look)

~

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 wings on the 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…

~

~

A Ghost Town Called Love

by Rawclyde!

~

artwork by Ravenari & Lajuls

Deviant Art

~

Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show

~

Hot August night
And the leaves hanging down
And the grass on the ground smellin’ sweet
Move up the road to the outside of town
And the sound of that good gospel beat
Sits a ragged tent
Where there ain’t no trees
And that gospel group tellin’ you and me
It’s Love, Brother Love, say
Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show
Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies
And ev’ryone goes, ’cause everyone knows
Brother Love’s show
.

~

~

Room gets suddenly still
And when you’d almost bet
You could hear yourself sweat, he walks in
Eyes black as coal
And when he lifts his face
Ev’ry ear in the place is on him
Starting soft and slow
Like a small earthquake
And when he lets go
Half the valley shakes
.

~

~

It’s Love, Brother Love, say
Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show
Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies
And ev’ryone goes, ’cause everyone knows
Brother Love’s show

~

~

Take my hand in yours
Walk with me this day
In my heart I know, I will never stray
Halle, halle, halle, halle
Halle, halle, halle, halle
It’s Love, Brother Love, say
Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show
Pack up the babies
And grab the old ladies and ev’ryone goes
I say, Love, Brother Love, say
Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show
Pack up the babies
And grab the old ladies and ev’ryone goes…

~

~

sung by

Neil  Diamond

~

1972

~