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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)



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Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

The Great Tsunami Of Our Growing Grief written 3/2.2021--retitled 3/14/2021

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Wild and Unraveling

What Must Be

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I Am The Color Of Black

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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

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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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Moving On Out ( Thank God) 1-30-2015


what did I do
when I realized I was
living in a glass
neighborhood
populated by ghosts...

I said:
"Its time to move on."

here, there's
so many shadows
I'd forgotten
about the sun

and the shivering I felt
so much
the coldness dampens even in
the first fine warmth of Spring

I could walk a thousand steps
and not walk out of
this circular sucking vortex

here emotions are so sped up
the people are puppets with their
strings being pulled from the clouds

how unhappy in the good ole land o' plenty
have we become, you and I

this is hip slick o'-burbia
where all share the same opinion
yet no one gets along
fingers point out the different ones
so they can be sieved out
for ridicule
yet often we all end up
singing one discordant disharmonizing
sing-song
not interested in being a card carrying
member of this snub-club

on the corner I heard one of the hipster Sirens
luring me out into middle of the street
they'd like me to be just like one of them...

but, I have to get away
I'm moving on out
from this glass neighborhood
before I shatter,
become caught in the shards

and the ghosts gather me up
and I permanently loose
my way

yes, I'm moving on out
I'm counting the minutes,
I'm numbering my days
looking towards
a new horizon

one where there are no ghosts


Copyright 1/30/2015 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells/Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World Copyritten Site.
All Poetry/Prose/Rants/Ideas Are the Legal Property of this Writer





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