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Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019


Checking Out

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month


Only The Choice To Be

When People Go

The Day You Left (Words From A Half-Remembered Dream)

Wake Wake Wake

It Is In The Rain

Dream Goblins Of The Night

Wake And Remember

Unwelcomed Like So Much Unfinished Business

In March (Finally, Spring 2016)

All For Algernon

Weak In The Knees

The Finisher's Song

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

All Beings Considered

This Is It

Max on the max

I Long For Stars

Falling Leaf, Falling Man/Woman, Rising Star

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

Its About Waking In The Middle Of The Night And Having To Write It All Down

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

If I Could Be The Sky...

It Feels Better To Be Unfinished (Wish-Unspoken, But With My Eyes)

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Used to Think I Could Fix Them.

Used to think I could fix her.
Change the weeping of my Mother's heart.
Mend the break in my Mother's mind.
"Can you ever forgive me," she asked.
My Mother lay like crumpled paper
on her bedroom floor.
I carried her to her bed,
gently said "rest now."
Whispered: "let all cares cease."
My sad pronouncement of peace.
I sat and watched until she
tumbled into accordion slumber.
Rest now, Mother.
I can't fix you.
Don't know if I ever will or can.
Still I prayed the prayer of
the undelivered.
It must have been bad medicine.
The cure didn't take.
It was my mistake
to believe.
Used to think I could fix him.
Behave so he'd come home for supper.
Endure when he beat me and when he didn't.
Forgave him for his blackouts.
Still, I took the blame.
It was my call,
the one that lost him everything.
Voluntary treatment didn't save him.
But soon he declared his life transformed-
with the advent of Leo Bascaglia
and the mightier power of amends.
And amends to his Mother
became the carrot of his existence...
Yes, he was going to fix it,
his past, that is.
The day before we were to leave
to see her
his Mother died.
Another prayer
for the undelivered.
I held my Father close.
Though I never knew him well,
I could never let a stranger cry.
After the funeral
he went back to the bottle.
Yes, it was my mistake to believe.
Used to think I could fix them.

Legal Copyright March 5 for this work by this author
, 2010 All Rights Reserved By this Author
Melissa A. Howells  and also legal copyright for this site
Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World

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