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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

Devious

Checking Out



Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month

Words

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...

More Poetry >>

Git Along....

Who do they think we are
and what have they done thus far
except make us dogs,
not allowing that a dog has his day or even afternoon?
Sometimes we're barely keeping ahead
the lines that wait for bread
are getting longer
as their wallets fatten
and they smile
but always behind a well-placed hand.
Ain't life grand
and the very rich say they can only make it better
but they neglect to describe
the drought conditions or bad weather
and that their main concern is
for themselves.
They'd keep a pet better than ourselves.


I can hear their too familiar refrain
driving us below them, not noticing our strain
as we plod our final miles:


"Whoopee tie yie yo, git along little doggies
its your misfortune and none of my own.
Whoopee tie yie yo, git along little doggies..." **

We don't care how you fare, we will own your home.
(snickery snickery snick)

They like whooping and yelling and driving us doggies...
and unless we wake up, we'll keep plodding along..
we'll have little left to call our "own."


With brains are made of money; for us they'd go a huntin'.
Their hearts pump warm blood, but are fed by cold stone.


** refers to a poem about cow-punchers or cowboys driving
doggies which refers to cattle. There is also a deliberate
double-entendre and intentional irony, for those noticing.


Copyright August 13, 2012 All Rights Reserved By Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo from her Tilt-a-World





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Git Along....


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