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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

I Long For Stars

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

Your Next New Dying Black Swan



The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Informed Through Pain

Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

A Man Of The Clouds

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

Accountants

Shrine

Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre

Dragons

Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself

TONIGHT

I WILL RETURN

Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

More Poetry >>

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
lost
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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