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Poem Untitled, But, If Not For You

The Un-Promised Land

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

(You're) Still Here

I Know Most Who I Am When You Are In The Room

I Travel Every Time I Think Of You

From The Desert

As Sick As My Secrets

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

Then The Little Silver Fish Came

I Keep My Ray Bans Handy

Upwards Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

He's There

Oh, Now, The Pink Moon

And Even Stars Die

You Are Not My Audience, I Just Borrowed You For Awhile

why not ask the cat?

Odd Thoughts and Juxtapositions

Some Meaningful Proof For A Hopeful Dreamer's Eyes


If This Is Any Art For Which You Care


Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

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

the life and times of Medusa

I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness

A Man Called Tsuris

Tuesday afternoon in the jewelry box

All Beings Considered


Woman Of A Certain Age

Better Than A Cyanide Capsule

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My poetry is often a conversation.

Sometimes with the world, but mostly with myself.

I'm not required to write everyone's truth. Just my own.

I tell stories. I share observations.

Sometimes I see things others don't.

I believe poertry is sharing pieces of yourself.

But I also believe in not sharing all of yourself.

It can be very personal. Its my way of making sense

 of what is at times,  none-sensical--

Yes, I did just make up my own word--

or, just plain nonsense.

Finally, I believe poetry is a recording of certain facts:

the fact that you were here, that your life had meaning,

and that there are some moments or ideas which you

wish to preserve, to make indellible.

Pour your soul onto the paper...

I dare you.

May poetry bring you the same bliss it has given me.

All work here is legally copyrighted

including my poetry, site title and the original

watercolors and art work.

Thank you for visiting.

Melissa A Howells

Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World