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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

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A Friend By Any Other Name

A state not lightly entered into.
Might as well be considered matrimony.

Gone seem the days of those you can
wholly trust.
Some new friends
exact a price in emails and the book
and think they're just-
ified in their feelings.

Some play, not so nice.
Social media's got real dice
and you take a chance with
the less tightly-wrapped.
Less familiar with manners
than smack.

Cellphones are mere scanners
and instruments of malicious exaggeration
of facts.
Unschooled in kindergarten, friends might be
more up on the slang, the slap
of turn-coats. Possess all the loyalty of
feral Tom cats. Though the manners of a cat
fare far better. Yes.

Sometimes I long for the days
of the letter. Or the land telephone.
Making sure the messages reached homes.
And people were more like people.

Instead of this "I Annonymouse cra*."
Thinking we're clever whenever we
give the coldest shoulder but
the courage to deliver it

Copyright February 13, 2012. All Rights are RESERVED by this Author.
Melissa A Howells Meloo/Tilt-a-World

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