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The Hoping

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Some Children Have Nightmares (tentative title)

Night Train


wandering the rolling hills ...(written for his model)

All The Changing....


Lonesome Love

two out of three people

A Start Again...(I Green-Dreamed Again Last Night)

The Little Bird Said

cat speech

Funny, Not Funny

All You Have To Do Is Breathe....


A Dog Should Have His Tail...

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Checking Out


Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Last Night

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

More Poetry >>

Love A Possibility

I left the laundry in the dark to think.
While I gingerly climbed the stairs to daylight.
What is it that makes things, living or not, different?

We come from the same origins.
Stardust when the universe exploded
a Milennia ago.

Where did this sentence, this inanity come from?
Does laundry think? Does it fear darkness
like small children sometimes do?
Does it possess life when traces of us
are ground into it with daily wear and use?

Old houses have memories, traces of energy of
those who lived within them and then moved on
temporarily, but often leaving a psychic imprint behind.

I love a mystery, a conundrum. I do not trust those
who dispel all mystery as nonsense.
Theirs must be a pedestrian life.
Nothing suits them but the most precise logical explanation.

Ah, so that is where my thought enters in.

My mind wanders, then wonders, on the possibilities
of laundry, being animate, and how it might be fearful
being left alone, unattended momentarily in the dark.
Here my awkward empathy makes a bow, not an intrusion.
I won't be dissuaded from the possibility
of wonder, fantasy or mystery.

Always been able to entertain myself, I have.

A facile talent developed among a society which shunned
me for my oddities.
Call me a Pseudo-Scientist but...
I like not fitting.
I cherish mysteries.
I love a possibility.

I trust who I am.

Copyright September 15 2012 All Rights Reserved By The Author
Melissa A Howells  Meloo from her Tilt-a-World


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