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No Addmittance/Doors Shut

Poem Untitled, But, If Not For You

The Un-Promised Land

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

(You're) Still Here



I Know Most Who I Am When You Are In The Room

I Travel Every Time I Think Of You

From The Desert

As Sick As My Secrets

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

Then The Little Silver Fish Came

I Keep My Ray Bans Handy

Upwards Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

He's There

Oh, Now, The Pink Moon

And Even Stars Die

You Are Not My Audience, I Just Borrowed You For Awhile

why not ask the cat?

Odd Thoughts and Juxtapositions

Some Meaningful Proof For A Hopeful Dreamer's Eyes

Ramada

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Beauty

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

the life and times of Medusa

I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness

A Man Called Tsuris

Tuesday afternoon in the jewelry box

All Beings Considered

Disappear

Woman Of A Certain Age

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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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