meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world


 Poet's Home Page  Poetry Search    338366 Poems Read
 Other Poets  PoetryPoem  Sign Up!  Login

  Search The Web
   

Read Poetry
o Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

o All Beings Considered

o I Long For Stars

o The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

o Your Next New Dying Black Swan



o The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

o Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

o Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

o All Too Clearly Now

o If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

o Informed Through Pain

o Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

o A Man Of The Clouds

o The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past

o Accountants

o Shrine

o Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

o They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

o Cuba Libre

o Dragons

o Max on the max

o The Little Bird Said

o The Factory of Resentments

o When My Blues Are Gone

o Expect Yourself

o TONIGHT

o I WILL RETURN

o Silver-Tongued Devil

o Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

o Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

o Open Lines

o You Got Your Lilly Back



[More Poetry] >>



  Sign Guestbook
  Read Guestbook
 
Yes, We're Smiling at all the Right Intervals

There are some odd ones here.
Ones I barely recognize as myself.
Ones I roll my eyes heavenward at,
but only in mock exasperation.
Or is it in recognition?
Surely, this could not be my disposition...
I hear idiot half-sentences...
Muttered, uncompleted thoughts,
somewhat like the ones limping around in my head.
Oh they have come from different places,
they are like Dracula and Frankenstein.
But yet the whole of this fits.
Well, some whole, others only half-whole.
All fallen from the same crooked tree,
and always trying to scramble back up again.
See the man in the grey flannel suit,
with the painful pinching wingtips...
Thinks he's hidden behind his glasses
and that grim, intolerant smile.
He's armed with a book for protection.
But its only paper.
I can see right through you, mister.
Its another episode.
with me writing here
at this small, half-abandoned cafe.


Meloo/Melissa A. Howells Copyright 2010, but written and re-written over a period of time.





Vote for this poem

Please Comment On This Poem

Comments

 Email Address

 

Vote for this poem



 
 Privacy Statement       Terms of Use  © 2000-2019 ++++ Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors