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Last Night

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...

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Whistler's Daughter

Who is that whistling?
I cannot whistle
not like Grandma who could
charm the bluebird
threading notes
through a blade of grass.
She tried to teach me
she was patient
but I could only
manage a stubborn rush
of air
that puffed out my cheeks
and released a stream of
spittle into her hair
and made her laugh.
I cannot whistle
not like my Father could
through the conch shell of his hands
trilling melodies
so grand eloquent
he'd learned from travels
to distant lands.
And I could
give him my requests
and he always did more than
his best, to comply.
so, I always wondered why
there was so much to it,
and why I couldn't quite do it.
I looked foolish
in my mind
every time I tried.
Til one night
in college after having way too much
to drink
I think
it may have been the
50 cent beers
and countless scotch and sodas
and the ritualistic dancing
to a disco beat,
I felt the melody meet
my lips
I began whistling
snippets of the
Good Bad and the Ugly.
We'd been discussing
Spaghetti Westerns all night long
and who was badder, Eli Wallach
or Lee Vancleef.
And so momentarily inspired,
my lips inflamed with fire,
I puckered up
and I  finally acquired a long dormant
I imagined Grandma
smiling down on me.
Then my Father
nodding his approval,
proving finally,
at last,
and forever
we shared the very same genes.

Copyright September 26 2011 All Rights Reserved By Author

Melissa A Howells of Tilt-a-World

And now for something a little different...  :-)

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Whistler's Daughter



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