Race Mahaffey

Race Mahaffey Poems

Apollo shineth.

That's it, piano players.

I don't smoke.
It still smells like smoke
In my pickup truck.

My mother in a photograph when she was eighteen,
My beloved, Italian shepherd, named 'Roxy',
Dad's favorite songs by Harry Chapin,
A candy apple red,1967 Ford Mustang Coupe,

Crisis of Confidence?

'I man with a stuffed shirt',
and so on,


Here are some shackles.
You should put them on, right now, because

004 Ben Richardson, Royal Canadian, British Empire, in Her Majesty's Secret Service. With chestnut hair, he looked mighty handsome in his soft, blonde, corduroy, sports jacket, buck hip knife, blue jeans and cowboy boots. She was a gypsy dancer, on stage, and he knew he had to meet with her on time. He checked his wrist watch. He hid in the doorway of the tavern, and tried to see her above all the heads. So smoking bear, turn and step, then sparkles, house lights flat, then fanning like sunshine through a passenger train window from amid the standing maples. He was too good for this. He didn't know, no pride to be wounded. That Richardson, everybody knew he was a decent man. The bad man arrived with the golden gun in his hand. He aimed at her. Richardson saw it; and, like lightning, flashed and whipped. Knight moves. That Richardson took the first shot in his hand. The bad man quickly reloaded. Empty handed, Richardson danced between the gypsy lady and the bad man with the one shot, golden pistol, and took the next one square in the back.004 Ben Richardson, he was a mighty handsome man when his clock ran out. Though his time was up, he saved the lady and his number one villain fled. She kept the golden slug and wore it inside her navel whenever she wore silks. Look out next for 007, who had a few good words, indeed, for such a decent man. He tried to seduce the gypsy dancer from on his knees, when she danced for him, one on one, and snatched the bullet between his teeth--and then he ran, he got the hell out, because that Richardson was a real, good hero and a decent man. He's dead, and that's all that happened; but he sure was a bona fide, cowboy, secret agent. Look out, Mr. Bad Man with the doomsday gun, for 007. He's coming next to make all things even.004 Ben Richardson and the man.

Seattle, Washington, it is cold outside, it is raining; and I cannot find a decent place to sleep anywhere on the cruel, hard, glistening pavement. I am not like other men. You can't get me down, no way. I am Mr. New York, when it comes to these things. Give me only a minute. There, right there, since I have enough loose change in my pocket, a newspaper machine. When times are hard enough that they should break me down in surrender and defeat, I do not ask for divine intervention. It is too late for that; though I know that, indeed, God, is watching.

I man with a stuffed shirt

The Seattle rain king, chasing beauty in the realm of night,
She can never come home again, must remain in Heaven.

Soundgarden, Love's Like Suicide.

Walking amid the southern capitol of Zhaoquing,
Once home of the mighty Djinn emperors,
It is most silent,
And there is momentary pause for their absence.

In China,
I can do this all day long,
Serve the Empire.

Horseman, Lucky Thoughts,

You good, you good, hello.

Well, sweetheart,
When all else fails,
Pairing my nails,

I am in ancient Greece, sitting around a campfire with some other men.

Most of us are scarred up and missing eyeballs.

Windshield time

Double clutch and selector

Race Mahaffey Biography

51 year old poet.)

The Best Poem Of Race Mahaffey

Lucky Strikes

Apollo shineth.

That's it, piano players.

If you would, please, remain in your ships.

We will come out in the nude and kill you later.

Right now, I'm too busy.


Ah, this is rich,

I hope you understand
I hope you understand


Have a smoke.

I've got the fire in my hand.

Doesn't it feel good to watch the drag

Is supposed to finally destroy
The sleeper today.

Red dragon against the black one.

We'll see.

I dig feeling lucky today.

It keeps you running.

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