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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

(A Prayer of Intercession--Brief Joy)

Upwards Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

Tuesday afternoon in the jewelry box

What If



Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

the slave is freed

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

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

All Beings Considered

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

Max on the max

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

A Man Called Tsuris

For The Loss Of A Ghost Like You

Love A Cat

Fragile Shell Of Morning

I Long For Stars

I Feel Fine(r)

The Crow Is A Songbird

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

And With Words I Let Them Go

When He Returns From The Road

Flashes, Glimpses, Moments, Time

the brand of disappointment

Boy Restored

Please Don't Bring Me Flowers

No Woman's Friend

Ramada

Sometimes I Hear Him

the life and times of Medusa

why not ask the cat?

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(You're) Still Here


*************

I didn't nourish you
into old age

your spark
was snuffed out much too early
due to your frailty
and the frailty of
human reasoning,
human hands

if I believed in statistics
statistics would've decreed
how you died young
how those words
glide off my tongue
into a juxtaposition of troubling opposites

youth has the luxury of time
while the dead have none
they tell me
there's a place beyond
this sometimes lonely one
beyond the bewildering ether
of our abrupt separation

how you loved your simple life
how you simply loved it all

today's bluer sky tries to hint at
eternity
not any strife or fall
but what I see is
an eternity of space

falling up
into a vastness of blue
into that vastness somewhere
is there a bit of you
an eternity of you

or do you somehow
look down upon me

can you please tell me
what you see
do you wonder if I can
still see you

inside of me
we do
I do

you're not up in some sky
you live within
inside the hollowed chambers
of our hearts
where the blood doesn't always pump forward
but often stops and starts
and the mind looks inward
to the last time
to memorize
you


you're here in the last lines
of this poem
the first thought
of each morning
the last breath of air at night
as it brushes cross my cheek
I hear your voice
without a warning

you're in the reasons
we talk in great detail
as tears fill up our reddened eyes

the space
you've left behind
it doesn't lie

grief is
love
that has no where
to go
and yet we both know

somehow
you're
still
here

*************


LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS WORK/POEM ON
MAY 19, 2017 11:26PM PACIFIC STANDARD TIME
AND ALSO FOR THIS AUTHOR MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND
ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE:
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD


edited and pared down May 21, 2017 12:43pm PST
for clarity' sake. For me, this needs to be written
as well as possible. it is important for both of us. all of us.





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