melissaahowells

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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

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Later Hours


I keep later hours.
I like to reside in the
quiet theater of my mind.
Less noise
less people
less static
less need to be
so refined.
Its nice to nestle into
the dark.
I have a permanent place there.
Its mine whenever there is a spark
of beauty or the nudge of something that
just won't recede.
We, the thoughts of mine and me,
keep late night company.
And we are fine.
So much better than you'd think.
Not minding that we should be in bed
with the ordinariness of catching 40 winks.
We've agreed to venture into the venture
of digging into the cranial archives for awhile.
Me and my imagination
have our own schedules, a singular style.
And so what if we rhyme only when we want.
And defy convention and over-sprinkle content
or taunt
after all, its someone else's missed perceptions,
not our own.
We know ourselves better and better.
Let others satisfy themselves by chewing barest bones.
And later hours
suit the palate
together,
we muster all the luster we can
polish, we can hone.


Copyright February 5, 2013  All Rights are Reserved by THIS Author
Melissa A Howells  Meloo from her Tilt-a-World





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