meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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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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Cuba Libre


Thick Spanish coffee, rich Cafe Caribe
Drinking in the wiles,the old promises and
smiles of Cuba. Sunbleached and decaying
wraith-like style. Death seems invited in for
awhile into the corners of this sad cafe.
The men wear bone-white suits,
the women,gaily-colored dresses making a dull parade.
Familiar strains,La Bella Musica
from brighter times echoes in the sandy streets,
wishing Fidel had never stayed. Wishing
Fidel had gone to his grave. Even Castro's daughter
cries and remembers Cuba when she could be brazen,
be unwise. Before the ash heap of regiments and
revolution. Before there were plots of a military solution.
When the nights were full of wild song and
stained with dark rum,
and passions rose and set with the blistering sun.



Meloo/Melissa A. Howells Legal Copyright September 2004
for this poem/work for this site title, by this author
Melissa Ann Howells/meloo straight from her
Tilt-a-World...legal copyright site title.
One of my favorites.





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