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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

A Dog Should Have His Tail...

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Checking Out


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

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Bad Blues Boy

Bad blues boy,
mad music man
in a
dark drowned town.
Joint juke n' jokes joy,
unmanacled mewed sound.
Purred perfect pitch prose
lyrical wizard lopes
up n down
the streets
with the
giant keyboard
that he totes.
Portable playster,
playful punster.
Hippy huckster,
licks like thunder
mad mind plunder.
Mister mister
no pretend hipster
everyday there's
people who never
get famous
but stay with us forever.
Everyday there's
people who live
their lives alone.
They're not counted on the
fingers of the living.
No one hears their cries,
No one hears their moans.
You speak for the
and those who know and
pay the cost
and who will always continue to do so.
But I gotta say this to you, so...
listen, if you will..
I hear you
mister mister.
out in the corner pocket,
out in the world,
keep on delivering
your wake-up music
a tasty stew
home-cooked up, a seven days a week meal.
I'll keep eating
your lyrics with my fat brain spoon.
Keep on howling your lonesome tunetelage.
the hairs like notes
racing up and down my spine
curl up as you croon.
From early spring through dark November,
even on a dull winter's day
echoing through the halls of the city
echoing in my heart,
don't crumble,
don't fade away.
Mister mister
quizzical eyebrows
and those over-active fly-out curls
you and your style always
and forever recognizable
leave a footprint
on this world.

Copyright October 2010 /// Meloo Tilt-a-World ///// Melissa A Howells
A very rough cut.

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Bad Blues Boy



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