http://slow.writerscafe.org/TownesVanZandt The original writings of author Rick r en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776029652 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 In the folds of the hillsand hollowsof my mind,I remember a timewhen you were free. You were of the sweetest colorknown to me.No man could catch you;I'm not even sure we tried.It was such a sightjust to watch youspread your wings.Like a birdyou could flycircles so high,blue as the sky,and free as th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1378861/ A whispered call to prayeracross the pillowmy muezzinyour adhānawakens me to the suna new day.I rise and kneelin worshipin supplicationI hasten to youmy confessionin adorationI vow, I bow to please you.r ~ 6/23/14 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1376328/ Love in the Carolinas http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1376325/ That curving spacebetween her breasts,a perfect place for my chin to restas I dreamt a scene along the Seineof the perfect breasts of my sweet Pauline.r ~ 6/20/14 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1376324/ Manet's painting "Nana" http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1376323/ I'm not typically into writing dark, but wanted to try something different. For some reason, wasps have always struck me as having a dark, evil side to them. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1370017/ I missed my revolution. What's a boy to do?Don a balaclava for jaysus?Smoke a fat havana?Think I'll buy me a beretbrush up on mi españolgrow a fumanchumove fifty years down southfind me a spanish speaking babeto dance the dance in a red dressshouting viva la vida all night longtill the sun co.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1369452/ With broken wing-She tried to fly/A broken wing-The ruse she tried/On broken wing-The sigh, it died/For broken wing-Her lover cried.3/12/14 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1369426/ Poem constructed on my front porch the morning my daylilies bloomed. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1368980/ Alone in his dark apartmentblack dog asleepthe sound of children playingin the street outside his window-children of color, his housekeeper says,not quite seeing the distinctiononly hearing happy voices-an old jazz number on the radioas he stands and dances slowlywith his cane tap, tap, tappingto th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1368886/ Ours was less an Arab Springand more a half-hearted coup d'état.There was no immolation,no burning desire on your part;no passion in the streets of you.You stole in at nightthrough a window I'd left open,a crack in my needfor something more than mereexistence.  From me there wasno r.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1367103/ A fictional account of the Paiute http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1366567/ Revisiting the days of innocence and loss of http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1366562/ Hammer.Nails.Wood.BANG!BANG!BANG!Table. 6/3/14 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1366026/ Ode to my muse. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1365991/ Memories along the Watauga River, Tennessee http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1365960/ Poem regarding recent tragic event in the village of Katra, India. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1364333/ A remembrance. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1363856/ Putting the physical to verse. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1363824/ My description of writer's block http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1362931/ General Lee and Traveller on the road home from Gettysburg. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1362930/ My love for hobos and sweet Georgia. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1362928/ Just a fun piece. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1362927/ A piece expressing my love of Mayan prehistory. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1362926/ A descriptive muse of Mayan magic. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1360966/ My ink may run as black as coal,as dark as a dark night of the soul. Or flow red hued like the morning sky;as red as love,or red man's bloodon hard-baked clay. Yellow ink huesmy many suns,my moonsthe color ofdry bone. Blue-inked wavesmay wash my blues away,or sing the blues as blue as muddy waters. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1360027/ A fading shade; built with careonce bright, now reminiscentof coming winter. Time-bent frame; piney dreamsof summer days, gonenow splintered.Binding rings; stretching linkrusted chains, cold rainsblow bitter. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1356961/ The day was good,the sun shining, a breeze winding around the pines.Two mockingbirds were playing guess me.Cumuli loitered above ground shadowswith cats jumpingfrom one to the otherin a game that only they understood.I felt the stirring of precipitatemotion on my cheek as a shadowpassed by whisper.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1354086/ For me, it's not courageor a lack of itthat keeps me hanging'round. When I boil itdown, it's love in the bottomof the kettle that keeps mebreathing. I don't think it ispossible to love too much,but man, I feel like I've beenbreathing for a long damn time. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1353900/ Short one. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1352910/ Measure our nights by the sighs of the moon. Count the stars till we run out of room. Lie here beside me 'neath the comforting sky. Make me a pillow of your warming thighs. Bring my roar to your lips as my salt you sip. Twice kissed silken cries your wakened delight. Measure our nights by slumbering.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1351706/ In my next lifeI wish to be a saddle. I love horses,wool blankets,the feel of old leather, the comfort of a stable. Yes, I love them all. Mostly, though, I love cowgirls. In my next lifeI wish to be a saddle. r ~ 5/1/14 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1351610/ Mature http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1351607/ She hides her smile behind black lipstick. Her voice is lowand in between. She smells of lonelinessand cigarettes. She sings for mewhen she is high. She gets me higherthan I can go. She takes me lowand in between. She's on firewhen she sings. Her voice is smokey,full of pain. She sings of loneliness.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1350773/ Home Depot does not sell azure paint.No. They do have Morning Sky, Tropical Lagoon, Morning Breeze,Ocean Cruise, Cozumel, Empress Teal,Almost Aqua, and Navy.  But no azure.  No cyan, either. No plain ol' blue.I will take my verdant money elsewhere.Home Depot should be more poet f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1350289/ I could write a poem about myself. I could write a poem.I could write.I could.I.r ~ 4/28/14 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1350194/ I could write a poem about you. It's true. But a poem would only make you love me more than you know how to. I could write a poem about your eyes. They're blue.I could tell the world you make my day all day long. Nights, too. I could tell the world all about you. The world would share my view. I cou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1350191/ What can I say. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1349697/ Self evident. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1349672/ Looking back, looking forward. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1349670/ Of Guineverre, Arthur, Mordred and the battle of Camlann. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1347457/ It's not the rainthat makes my eyes wet. It hasn't rained in forty days. Nights are long and quiet. The silence cuts to bone. It wasn't rain that quenched the fire. It hasn't rained in forty nights. The well is dry... so am I. Nights I sit in silencewhile it rains. r ~ 4/19/14 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1347379/ Night musing. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1344758/ A poem reflecting my appreciation of Pablo Neruda's "A Dog Has Died" (Poetry Magazine, February 1999). http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1344367/ Dreams http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1344254/ An attempt at a rondeau. I enjoy the form, but do find them difficult. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1343881/ Poem about a river town I did some work near many years ago. Interesting town. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1343788/ Of all that moves me. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1342949/ Rondeau http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1341513/ Earthy http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TownesVanZandt/1341512/