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Little Man Orange--My Mister Peanut Butter Trout

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

THE STITCH IN THE TELEPHONE WIRES

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

The Differences



If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

Wisdom of the Infinite

Not Someone's Grand Illusion

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

After Wide Sargasso Sea

Great Big Waterproof World

The Storm

I Turn Forward

Patch-Worked Trilogy

And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

Great Spirit

Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Dragons

HOW

EVENTUALLY...

THERE WILL BE MORE ...

At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

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A Friend By Any Other Name



Friendship.
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
lack
the courage to deliver it
personally.



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








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