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The Petty Player Who Rarely Sleeps

I'd Like A Taste (The Wolf Said)

The Crow Is A Black Bird

When I Start to Bloom

I'd Like To Be Your Shirt (when you wake up in the morning)



All Beings Considered

Words Between Edward And Jane

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

The Great Tsunami Of Our Growing Grief written 3/2.2021--retitled 3/14/2021

After Wide Sargasso Sea ( For Those of You Readers Who Have Empathy For the First Mrs. Rochester.)

WAITING ON THE WORLD (March/February 2021 poetry)

Wild and Unraveling

What Must Be

These Hands Exist July 4 2023 rei-edited 7/12/2023

I Am The Color Of Black

The Tide of Your Lies (2019-2023)

How I Wanted Your Pearls 6/24/2023 WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE

Love Wants What Love Wants re-edited 5/31/023

Winter's Been Too Long.... 4/18/2023 (LONGING)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Like A Small Street Dog Lured In By The Promise Of Meat

This Is What Mermaids Dream Of

At Night, As I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

And You Will Be Called Ashes As You Leave ( from a dream)

Certainly No Bread 3/16/2022

Someone Send Out A Search Party

THE FAN , AT NIGHT, GIVES GOOD ADVICE completely re-edited, an entirely different poem

What Is The Price For Your Touch? re-editied 5/31/2023

Where Is My Bed With The Pleasing Tree -Lined View(NOW REEDITED)

Oh What Fine Physics (Before Me ,Lies) re-edtited @4/17/2023

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

THE COMPANY THAT WE KEEP WITH THE ONE WITHIN

More Poetry >>

The Husk Before October

I see the husk before me,
waiting for
the healing storms of
October.
Parched grass tramped,
dark crackling gold in the wind,
praying for the rain.
All is bone dead in September.
No prophesy to tell us when the rains will come.
The thirst in the ground grows and grows.
Extremity in nature,
the earth so wanting,
we, too, so wanting,
our tempers are short, our manners are forgotten.
We, who've stopped wondering how to regret
our
quick
flashes
of anger,
just as Gaea has forgotten her
dulled
impatience
for rain.
15 days and counting,
15 nights a trail of eighty plus degrees and
sweat stained beds.
We scoop our breath out like poached yolks,
We test the theory of
eggs sering on sidewalks.
We scan the horizon
for a change that we long to
taste
on our tongues,
feel
on our skin.
This is the husk before
drenching storms of October.
Before the time we finally
will
sigh
doused by the healing
coolness
of rain.



February 13 2012...All Rights Are Reserved By The Author
Melissa A Howells    Meloo of Tilt-a-World

this is about a time in childhood when there was a drought in the Midwest.
seems like old times again. global warming is the rule, in my opinion,
 no longer just  the exception.








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