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Coming Off Small

Counting The Long Days, Tilling The Greens

All Tarted Up

Don't Tread On Me.

why We celebrate the losers



Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

what makes a monster (sympathy for the monster)

I Long For Stars

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

All Beings Considered

Little Water Bug ( learning the lesson of true pain)

Hope You Enjoyed The Eclipse While It Lasted

Written For My Father Who Isn't Here To Know

And Even Stars Die

Crowded Out

I Feel Fine(r)

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Used to Think I Could Fix Them.

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

Max on the max

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

Boy Restored

The Light Goes On In The Attic (WeAll Have Addictons)

Life's A Candle

Malla Batsick

(A Prayer of Intercession--Brief Joy)

Love A Cat

Cuba Libre

Fragile Shell Of Morning

Disappear

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

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A Thousand Words For Snow Are Spoken By The Eskimos


the snow has convinced the sun
to hide away
it is nearly nine
yet the sky is dull and greyed
and during the night
it was velvet violet
densely blotting out stars
with an eon of falling flakes
muffling the earth
trapping the city
in a blanketing of forced quiet

the piles of white
have filled our snow globe wilderness
up to its brim
as i sit brooding within
dreaming of forts and shovels
and childhood's lost landscapes
flying down white hills in saucers
sloughing along in drift in moon boots
echoing voices in the warming house
and the sharp slap of hockey pucks
against the boards
and the slicing of skate blades skirting new ice

a time when
winter snow was a backdrop
a device for the long days into night
of childhood
when it was so grand to pretend to be
an Eskimo
and build forts from blocks of snow

white puffs of air
form now in front of me
as I sleep my dreams
of seven-story high drifts
in a winterish wonderland

I awaken rosy cheeked
and braced
with a craving for hot cocoa
and the crinkling crush of snow
under my little deer-feet tracks
the broad smile growing on my face
as I lick the falling flakes from the
fresh cool air.



January 10th, 2017 9:27 am PST
thinking of childhood days in North Dakota
legal copyright for this work/memory/poem
for the legal copyright poetry site/title
by this writer/author Melissa A Howells
Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World





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