Breaking Bread

by Elvis Bojangles

Here we sit

At table

Drinking coffee

Talking & chuckling


Your muse



Every once in a while

I get up


The cups

At first I think



Is me

Then I think

The inspiring entity

Only looks

Like me

Then I realize

The indescribable might not even be

Male or female

But an it

Finally I get up again

Refill the cups again

We all continue

Talking & giggling





Text Copyright Clyde Collins 2016

Adam/Eve image by Cretu Andreas


Newspaper Office IV


by Elvis Bojangles


The editor, Rawclyde, is sitting on top of his desk thumping himself in the head with his hind foot.  I’ve never seen a jackrabbit do such a thing ’til now.  It’s kind of scary.  He keeps saying over & over again,  “Oh God I’m an idiot!”  Then that hind foot thumps him in the head about 20 or 30 times.  Hard.  After awhile it’s hurting me as much as it is him.  I can’t stand it much longer.

“Oh God I’m an idiot!”  Thump thump thump thump…

“Cut it out, Rawclyde!”

“Oh God I’m an idiot!”  Thump thump thump thump…

“Cut it out!”

He grabs his foot with both paws, sticks it in his mouth and trembles all over.  He sticks his foot further & further in ’til his whole leg is disappearing down his throat.  I can’t believe what I’m seeing!

Finally I holler, “Cloyd!  What’s wrong with Rawclyde!”

Cloyd Campfire, the assistant editor, peeks shyly around the pile of books, papers, and about two-weeks worth of moldy half-eaten sandwiches piled about two-feet high a top his desk on the other side of the Old Timer Chronicle Newspaper Office.  After about 30-seconds of observation he says, “Well, Elvis, I believe he is punishing himself for being an idiot.  I further believe we both should not get involved.”

Rawclyde spits an entire rabbit leg out of his mouth.  The sopping wet leg swings around & hits him on the other side of his head.  Jackrabbit saliva splashes all over me at my desk.  Rawclyde hollers at the top of his lungs, “Oh God I’m an idiot!”


Calm & Aloof



Lightning bolt

Cracks & poof

Suddenly I am calm & aloof


Oh wily spirit dame

You’ve smoldered my hat

Oh smiley spirit dame

How’d you learn to do that?


I don’t remember standing-up

Some how in suit n’ tails dressed-up

Holding in my hand a silver tray all shined-up

on which sits a coffee pot & cup


Oh smily spirit dame

In flannel shirt & jeans

Oh wily spirit dame

How’d you find the means?


“Serve me”

Condescendingly says you

Sitting at a table that is ridiculously




The colossal

Cathedral inside a humble tent

Smiles like God

At the tail-end of Lent


The hot coffee I calmly aloofly pour

Like I’ve done this some place else before

“We’re equals.  You may sit too.”

Magnanimously says you


& I better believe

It’s true

As one coffee cup

Turns into two



Elvis Bojangles


Text Copyright Clyde Collins 2014

Black Bears Alaska copyright Ron Niebrugge



by Elvis Bojangles


I apologize for

being too free

being too me

& too blind to see


You’re mighty kind

sharing your mind

with the limitations of me

& offering equality


I cherish your gifts

your brain your madness

your body your soul

your gladness & sadness


It’s really too much

to say you are pure

beauty & truth

prevailing unto eternity


But that’s what you

appear to be

to a wanna-be butler

fading away on social security


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2016 Text)


What I Know About Time

by Elvis Bojangles


Heroine beloved tent oracle revered oh rhapsody

Your rocks & clay are not too scary

A scenic valley a secret grotto

An artesian well of levitating words

I have found a helmet that fits I am on my way

As I write I am already there as I write there is here

Headgear off upside-down in the corner

Abloom with a little trumpeting lily

This tent is too cozy too low I must kneel

I blink it’s a vast cathedral please guide me

I adore what’s up

Swirling steam solidifying as if Venus

Shucks I am clumsy like a new born colt

Mercy we witness a lightning bolt

Time is a clown skipping ’round & ’round

Please heed not the silly tick-tock sound



Text Copyright Clyde Collins 2016

Hallelujah Trail

Years & miles

separate you & I

Something mysterious

brings us together

It seems to be real

Yet there’s nothing to touch

Like rocky ground

Or your shoulder

It’s what we believe-in

The window

Of our imagination

Thru which we met

It’s thru this window

That a cute poet philosopher

And an old horn-dog roustabout

Get to thump & bump





But a ticket to ride

Would be more fun

So meet me

In St. Louis!


Elvis Bojangles


Newspaper Office III


by Elvis Bojangles


A few minutes later this sprite morn, Cloyd Campfire, the assistant editor, pasty & red-eyed, comes in singing:


Play on the blog

Play with yourself

Play on the blog

Stay on the shelf


Get on the road

Get her hand in yer hand

pack a light load

travelin’ man


He sits down like one big ache behind a book-piled paper-cluttered desk and, like a corpse with one last breath, groans, “Coffee.  Please.  Coffee.”

Campfire has timed it perfectly.   I’m already standing in front of the fresh-brewed pot, so I pore him a cup, traipse around, place it in front of his nose.

“Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you everybody.”  Whenever he gets a chance he says this.  He’s been saying it about 10 to 20 times a day lately, as if he’s President Obama finishing one speech after another all day long.

I go sit behind my own desk that has nothing on it.  The top of it is polished and shiny.  My cup of coffee placed there all by itself looks real good.  A little swirl of steam floats above the cup like a top hat.  I take a sip of coffee.  It tastes real good too.  Now I am open for suggestions ~ but not from the assistant editor.  “Fuck you, Cloyd,” says I.

He says again, “Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you everybody…”



Newspaper Office II



Elvis Bojangles


I get to the office early.  I’m anxious to get started on the report assigned to me late yesterday by ~ Rawclyde!  He’s already here ~ sitting on top of his desk munching select shrub-leaf from a bowl.  Our editor is a jackrabbit, you know.  Without one word of greeting he peers suspiciously at me as I slouch into the Old Timer Chronicle newspaper office.  He hops over his bowl of rabbit ration, turns around, continues chewing.   Just like a jackrabbit.

After I get settled at my desk, one of the editor’s ears, a very long & alert antenna, points obnoxiously at the coffee pot, cold & empty, in the corner.  His staring at me becomes ferocious.

“Okay, Rawclyde!”  I grin because he’s so damn funny looking ~ one of several reasons why I took this job.  I get up and tend to the pot.

Rawclyde wasn’t always a rabbit.  He had, or he thought he had, a girl-friend once ~ who kept telling him that she hated people, but loved animals.  So he became a jackrabbit, which didn’t do him any good.  She still told him he had to leave.  Then she stopped e-mailing him.

I empty yesterday’s coffee grains, buff the pot…



Newspaper Office


by Elvis Bojangles


You never have to feel bad again

You got four men and a ghost with a grin

Working for you

Working for you


Might as well celebrate with everything that you do

With a crew like this at your back it’s nothing but true

Working for you

Working for you


We love you so much we are all crazy

We love you so much we are all lazy

Working for you

Working for you


We never get payed but pure satisfaction

What we do is not subtraction

Working working working

For you


Any distance ‘tween you and us

Means nothing as we work & cuss

Getting it done

Getting it done

For you


We know good fortune can be kinda scary

Coming all at once might make one leery

Grab a handful of air

Know that we are there

See nothing with a glance

But when you dance

Working for you

Working for you


Note III From The Editor

Whose that fool looking back at me

In the mirror of my mind?


Can I place the familiar face

I thought I left behind?


E. Bojangles


Hello Highly-Regarded Reader!

Please let me introduce Elvis Bojangles, the

newcomer on the Old Timer Chronicle staff.  He

insists on a mug shot of himself.  Ain’t he some-

thing?  He says he won’t do anymore writing

unless we include this picture of him taken about

10 years ago.  We would have used a more recent

photo except we don’t have one.

Oh well.

He’s jus’ another tramp who happened by like

Davy Crockett Reincarnated, Cloyd Campfire, and

yours truly Rawclyde!  But this one’s got some

kind of ego problem, I guess.  Bojangles informs

us he’s an ex-rock star.  But nobody believes that

around here.

Good day!

Yours truly



Mirror of Your Mind by Joe South: