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Two Better Pasttimes. ( A Bit O' Rant)

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

This Is It

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

It Feels Better To Be Unfinished (Wish-Unspoken, But With My Eyes)

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

All In The Family (Family, What A Concept)

Unknowing

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

Max on the max

All My Children ( CATS ARE PEOPLE TOO)

How I Think That About Every One...

In Layers

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Silent Endings

All Beings Considered

Wake And Remember

Call This Our Autumn

Small Sentry

If I Could Be The Sky...

All Too Clearly Now

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Evidence

Afterwards...

It Comes At Night

The Hot Seasons

Perhaps I Too, Was Frozen

You Are (I'm Here With You)

Joyce Will Soon Be Seventy-Something

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Better To Bend Than Be Broken (CHANGE)


So strange.
What I can always
rely upon
is
change.


Why should I bother?
Why, complain?
About anything as immovable,
predictably unpredictable
as change?


I take one big belly flop forward,
one bigger belly flop behind.
I'm not afraid. I'm trying
not to feel the edge
of IT.
Remain composed in my mind. Its
only the condition of the conditions of
change, unrefined.
Cursed change.


But, these days,
I feel like a beggar.
Like I've staked a corner
asking for spange. Pleading.
Asking for something better.
What I get is change.
Wicked change.


Whether its the wind direction,
whether its foul weather,
change,
can be counted on,
insincere BUT reliable,
sometimes undesirable
as pleather.
Blasted change.


Change. If I don't bend with it
I might snap.
I'm finding it more difficult
to rejoin my separate halves.
Damn change,
full speed ahead.


Change.
Who would've conjured it?
But I'm along for the ride.
Am I past the line of tolerance?
Am I past the point where
my thinning skills can abide?


As long as there is life,
then salt will flavor it.
One thing's certain:
Time.
And time will always sell,
that is,
the change of it.


Better to bend than be
broken
than lying in the grave.

Death can be so permanent.
Why not chose then,
change.

Copyright July 21  2013 Directly to the page. All Rights Reserved By Author
Melissa A Howells  Meloo Tilt-a-World





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