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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You Never Know What  You Will Hear Riding On A Bus


this is more prose than poetry...though
the insights to me seem poetic...


"Starlight represents something so distant
but necessary." She said. And her eyes actually
twinkled as she spoke. "Necessary but cannot
literally be grasped." Huh? And then I thought about
how often I had grasped at starlight with my heart
each time I had gazed heavenwards. It was possible.
Possible. Literal, in my way. But I liked what this
woman on the bus had to say. She got me to thinking
about stars and about God.

"Its better to live in here." He said with absolute
conviction. I glanced over at him trying not to be
a snoop. It is not often you hear this kind of
forthrightness. He was pointing to his heart. "What do
you mean, Sir? asked his elderly female bus companion.
"Do you mean from the heart? Because I try to do good
deed every day too." "Not quite, he replied..."I mean, I
live my deeds a bit more secretly. I do good deeds on the sly.
And I live as quietly as I can. Leaving a small foot
print. I listen more than I speak." And then he suddenly stopped
speaking." Whoa. I thought. That's a real kind of "authenticism."
He's a true pioneer. Then, I got really quiet inside.

In a discussion about gentrification of our neighborhood
this sentence came up one night coming home. A young fellow began
defending the historical significance and beauty of our Southeast
neighborhood. He said "I truly value where I grew up! The large trees,
the old houses, the diverse people...they make up my identity.
These turn of the century houses make up the character of
the neighborhood and ought to be valued and preserved." In a nutshell,
he uttered the unexpected. I spoke up "A 100 year old house is just like
a 100 year old tree, once its gone, it is gone forever."
I surprised myself. Then I was quiet. But I felt strong inside.
The young man smiled at me as he got off the bus. I prayed
for the trees and the houses.

You never know what you will hear, riding on a bus.


Copyright January 5, 2015 All Rights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells/Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World
All poetry/prose/rants/ideas are the legal property of this writer
***** insights taken from bus rides spanning 2003-2014 ******

Thank you for reading






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