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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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Poetry is often a conversation.
Briefly with the world, but mostly with myself.
I'm not required to write everyone's truth. Just my own.
I share my story. You're not required to see as I do.
Often I see things others don't
Poetry 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, poetry is a recording of certain facts:
the fact that I was here, that my life had meaning,
that I and my words and ideas matter.
Its my wish to preserve, to make indelible.

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
Legally copyrighted site title