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The Petty Player Who Rarely Sleeps

I'd Like A Taste (The Wolf Said)

The Crow Is A Black Bird

When I Start to Bloom

I'd Like To Be Your Shirt (when you wake up in the morning)



All Beings Considered

Words Between Edward And Jane

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

The Great Tsunami Of Our Growing Grief written 3/2.2021--retitled 3/14/2021

After Wide Sargasso Sea ( For Those of You Readers Who Have Empathy For the First Mrs. Rochester.)

WAITING ON THE WORLD (March/February 2021 poetry)

Wild and Unraveling

What Must Be

These Hands Exist July 4 2023 rei-edited 7/12/2023

I Am The Color Of Black

The Tide of Your Lies (2019-2023)

How I Wanted Your Pearls 6/24/2023 WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE

Love Wants What Love Wants re-edited 5/31/023

Winter's Been Too Long.... 4/18/2023 (LONGING)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Like A Small Street Dog Lured In By The Promise Of Meat

This Is What Mermaids Dream Of

At Night, As I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

And You Will Be Called Ashes As You Leave ( from a dream)

Certainly No Bread 3/16/2022

Someone Send Out A Search Party

THE FAN , AT NIGHT, GIVES GOOD ADVICE completely re-edited, an entirely different poem

What Is The Price For Your Touch? re-editied 5/31/2023

Where Is My Bed With The Pleasing Tree -Lined View(NOW REEDITED)

Oh What Fine Physics (Before Me ,Lies) re-edtited @4/17/2023

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

THE COMPANY THAT WE KEEP WITH THE ONE WITHIN

More Poetry >>

In a Green Werewolf Sky

I recall
apple blossom snowflakes
filling a green werewolf sky.
Mother calling to me in the distance...
MISS-EEE, MISS-EEE, MISS-EEE.
I know my name, but stubbornly don't reply.
Lightning flashes, crackles more near than far away...
A loud ripping sound as it tears the dark Lake Agassiz earth.
The afternoon more night than day.
I'm frozen, chubby hands grip white the handlebars of my
clunker bike.
The bike I cannot ride.
I look up, nearly teetering backwards...
apple blossoms coat my hair, get in my eyes.
Impossible green sky.
Improbable pea soup clouds
so large they crowded out the pages
of my child-like imagination,
blotting out the uneven horizon.
Suddenly the sky snarls,
and a banshee siren fills the air.
One block away Mother stands bent oddly,
her apron rising from her hips at right angles
billowing out from her Bermuda shorts.
Ringing the dinner bell,
her hand is at her mouth in a pantomime of a scream.
I can't hear her, but recognize fear in her posturing.
Putting one leg over my bike,
magically, I rise
my legs strong, balance sure...
a hurricane gust of wind pushing me home.
Years later, crouching again
in the SE corner of our basement
I tell Grandma Alta about how our neighbor's dog Shep
and his doghouse were taken high away to heaven.
And how,
the wind, so strong, had pulled the pin of his chain
right from the ground!
"Child," she says,
"that's how it is."
"The devil wind will grab you in its jaws and sometimes,
everything gets taken from you
but the memory itself."
"Back then we never had no warning in Tornado Alley."
As she spoke,
I listened intently to the storm outside talking,
rattling the thin-paned basement windows,
as pea soup clouds were flying above us once again
in a green werewolf sky.


Melissa A Howells/ Meloo from Tilt-a-World
Copyright all rights reserved April 15th 2011.
True stories. All courtesy of Tornado Alley.







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