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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



Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre


Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself



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 >>

The Husk Before October

I see the husk before me,
waiting for
the healing storms of
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
of anger,
just as Gaea has forgotten her
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
on our tongues,
on our skin.
This is the husk before
drenching storms of October.
Before the time we finally
doused by the healing
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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The Husk Before October



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