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visions of sugarplums by the river bank

Mrs. Stine, Isn't It Time?

Come On Now

So Much Beauty

And Even Stars Die



Certain Succulent Pieces Of Time

Wiki-The-Tricky-Trap-Tapped-Us

I Speak for Those Whose Voice Would Be Taken Out Of Social Circulation

I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness

What Is This Death? ( As I Grow Older And Nearer To It)

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

un-Completion (I Prefer It)

Hope You Like It, Not

A Tesseract OrTwo

Woman Of A Certain Age

Deportation

Here They Are Triumphant, The Crows

Lost Before You Began

And You May Be The Reaper

Confetti Universe

Limitless

What If

I Wish You Well (a prayer)

Covering Up Vs Uncovering

What'll I Do, Without You

So You Do

For the Years of Dancing (Dance Hall Days Gone)

whern night becomes day

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

A Man Called Tsuris

Now I Am The One Who Chooses To Chose

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A Man Called Tsuris


every October it
would be the same
his troubles would slant in on him
like rain

I asked him
because I knew him
or so I thought I did
why had he traveled so far across the country
to a land in a place where it rained
the way it did

he didn't have the answers
he only said how it rained
and that the rain troubled him so
he didn't carry an umbrella
nor wear a mackintosh
nor have an oar
to paddle his boat
he wasn't collecting animals 2x2

unprepared
he was
for all that rain

he called himself
Tsuris
I heard him say it
very loud and
very plain

he was irascible
he was grumbling like the thunder
he was as unpredictable
as the weather
he didn't know it
but

he was the rain.


Copyright September 20, 2014
All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt-a-World
All ideas/prose/poetry/rants are the legal property of this Writer


There's a person who bears partial resemblance
to this poem. He's a bear of man. Yet I adore him.

We are all, in our own ways, are we not,
unpredictable, grumbling, irascible. No one
escapes this. It is what makes us human.

We love people in spite of their flaws. Why?
Because we have them too? Well, partially, yes.
Partially, too, because its their flaws that make
them who they are to us. Think about it.


Tsuris is the Yiddish word for Trouble.





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