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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 >>

Ghost

You have gotten too many poems.
You are a greedy ghost.
Your words come fast to me in the night
when I haven't a pen
but just a splaying of thoughts,
like old blood soaking into paper.


Who were you then? How are you now?
When did you make the escape or,
did you? I did, I thought. But perhaps not.
Am I different or is the difference that
different, or is the difference that
I no longer change?


Old cells dying off but
old memories remaining.
Sometimes a dream is a blink but I think
even language, your words can be
ingrained as
indelible ink.

Still...
I am trying to clear my head.
But all the shaking from side to side
isn't erasing you.
I have had a long night of listening.


The Chinese, I've heard, have a practice of
banishing ghosts on one night of the year.
I don't want you here. In my dreams or my head.
How does one, could one, re-kill the dead?

Or..
Placate them a bit...so they don't return to remit
all their dead vitriol onto
and into the living.
Are you worthy of forgiving?


Sometimes I believe the living
can be dead to us too.
You and I became dead in a certain
"memory space"
where and when I remember a time
when you dug into my face
and whispered "Goddess" into my rounded ear as
I was near dying myself.
98 pounds of nothing with a label.


Was it a goading, a rhetorical remark,
an encouragement to remain in my dark
-ness...
where my bone spider eyes stared out
into your and my nothingness?


The Goddess who doesn't eat nor sleep.
Doesn't drink. Cries dry tears as she weeps.
Your Goddess, a husk, marionette on a string.
She isn't, wasn't me. Your Goddess. Not me.


Giving up my life to the blood-pumper for free.
Sad dried-up cow with no home. Like being led to slaughter.
Wake up its a dream. You're not death;s fodder.
No Marilyn woman toy girl lost last at the ball.
You do not answer to the Goddess girl call...
Chase bombshell blond beauty tiny foot/hand cutie
down the dark hall to the light where she'll fall
and disintegrate into ash...to rise up at last
into some bird but no Chica-chickadee.


Goddess baby, she isn't me.
Be gone you male necromancer.
Be gone too
Goddess Ghost.



Copyright November 13, 2012 All Rights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells    / Melissa/Meloo  Tilt-a-World








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