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Hope You Enjoyed The Eclipse While It Lasted

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Life's A Candle

Written For My Father Who Isn't Here To Know

The Light Goes On In The Attic

Circumstance Changes All

I Am....( a keen observation )

(A Prayer of Intercession--Brief Joy)

Malla Batsick

not the story of my youth

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

The Secret Eater

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

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July's Message


I saw
July's message
written on the MAX way
down by the highway
to the city that groaned

There's No God Here
don't bother

no answer to a lonely prayer
the search long over
a hard question surmised
a statement long-suspended in the mind
then rendered to cold stone

No God Here
don't bother
move on

Its been on my mind
Its tattooed and branded
Its been a fish tugging at the end of a line
but a fish not wanting to be caught
an answer I too had sought
a search fraught with reticence

at the end to a quest of questions and questioning
here on this wall
someone climbed a tall barbwire fence
crossed two sets of train tracks
left their bitter manifesto
after the longest cruel winter recorded in years
while living outside
I sense no peace in his dear price paid
at all

a statement made
on the condition of mankind
and if there's any cool kindness left
if God created this mess or us
in His likeness
and if we are what suffices for
His finest
what's so fine
about this scene

for what Its worth
someone's asked the unspoken question
then written an answer
a signpost to read on the MAX way
down by the busy dirty highway
into the groaning city
we will all fall

here writ the words of the pauper prophets
splayed across a bare cement wall
in red droplets
and visited upon my heart
in stoic immutable silence.


legal copyright for this original work/poem
written July 7, 2017 2:43pm
and also by this author/writer Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World (retains legal copyright)

was written directly to the page July 7/ now edited July 8th

this is a new old testament prophecy
version...written by one of the denizens
of this unfair city

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