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2 Under the Bridge
Whatever Touches Your Life 1983 By James Richard Langston Listen . . . hear the cricket, In the softness of the night, Stand quietly by a meadow, See the birds taking flight. Hear the whisper of a breeze, Blowing through trees of pine, Let whatever touches your life, Be in tune to touching mine. Touch the velvet of a rose, On an early summer’s day, Smell the sweet aroma, Of a field of new mown hay. Throw caution to the wild wind, Play it loose just one time, Let whatever touches your life, Be in tune to touching mine. Blink your eyes at the sun, As it sets behind the hill, Skip a rock across the pond, By the old rustic mill. Cheer your team on to victory, As it comes from behind. Let whatever touches your life, Be in tune to touching mine. Taste a frosty snowflake, As it falls upon your tongue, See a mother hen fret, As she hovers o’er her young. Stay in tune with mother nature, Give her reason, give her rhyme, Let whatever touches your life, Be in tune to touching mine.
One Bullet More
Hey, saddle tramp, said Vernon. I dont think I like a bum like you coming in here to drink with us men. Matt turned to face Guthry, spread his feet shoulder wide with his gun hand thumb still hooked in his belt, still three fingers from his .44. The men that stood along the bar, drifted to one side, out of the line of fire. The room grew deadly quiet. Ive had just about all the crap Im going to take from a local loudmouth like you, Matt said. There was a deadly chill to his voice and Vernon shivered slightly from the feel of it. All of a sudden, he realized that he might be biting off a little more than he could chew. Being the braggart that he was, he couldnt back down from the step he had ...
Trail to Vallecitos
The whistle of the train sounded, bringing his thoughts back to the present. He turned to see if the sound of the whistle had disturbed any of the other passengers. The only one that seemed to be awake was the woman with PC sown on her luggage. He still didnt know what the initials stood for. "Are you restless too?" she asked. A polite smile was written on her lips. Jim tried to warm up a smile and send it back, but he only managed to put one kink in the corner of his mouth. It wasnt that he was not attracted to her; just the sight of her burned him to the core. It was just not the time and, mainly the, place to vent the heat. "If a man wasn't restless every now and then, he said, he would n...
1 Under the Bridge
Cherokee Teardrops 1985 By James Richard Langston Cherokee teardrops, Soft, dark and deep, Shed by Cherokee women, Every time they weep. The tears of Cherokee women, Rolled down their cheeks, They cried for their nation, Their braves lay at their feet. Their homes all in ashes, Their children standing bare, They wiped Cherokee teardrops, With their long raven hair. A defeated Cherokee nation, Submitting to their fate, Were moved to Oklahoma, In the winter of thirty eight. Proud Cherokee teardrops, Shed on every hand, All because the white man, Found gold on Cherokee land. Cherokee teardrops, From southern mountains grand, Spread across this nation, To a wasted, dusty land. Cherokee teardrops, Falling on two stones, Left a trail of sadness, From their southern mountain homes.
Hollicott Crossing
Bert Rawlings, he called. Rawlings turned in his seat and slowly rose to his feet. He knew he, himself, was fast with a gun and it had come down to who was faster, him or Johnson. When he was fully erect, he kicked the chair from him. With a smirk of a smile on one corner of his mouth, he spoke. Well, what can I do for you Mr. Johnson? There was a mocking tone to his voice. Ive come to settle a debt with you for killing five of my men and for your violation of a good woman in Amarillo. The room became so quiet you could have heard a bug burp. All eyes were moving from one to the other of the two men facing each other. Sweat beads popped out on the forehead of both. Finally Rawlings shrugged ...
Lobo Loma
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