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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The photographer snapped a picture
of a Mother Rhino and her young calf.

"Its amazing to capture a picture of them
together here in their natural setting!"
he exclaimed beaming.

In the background,
I observed tall matted grasses,
last night's sanctuary.

In the near foreground,
I see the young male calf
winding in and out of his Mother's legs,
weaving a chain of interdependence and connected-ness,
his sweet expression is appealing,
a deep smile.

Reappraising their surroundings,
I take note in the "natural environment there are
well-worn tire ruts in the muddied road
criss-crossing the fields
and wonder at the excision
of the wild
in what remains
of this last documented wilderness.


Copyright April 26 2015 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
All poetry/prose/rants/ideas are the legal property of this writer
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt-a-World







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