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Some Children Have Nightmares (tentative title)

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

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

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

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40 plus years ago in an overgrown garden

The sun softened her
into an over-ripe peach.
The golden skies glazed
the planes of her face
with berryjuice freckles.

Mom became more of a Mother
each summer as it progressed.
Flourished as an unplanned seed
in a wild garden.

Her three children
gathered around her there,
occasionally grabbing onto here
like weeds:

I, was the star thistle with great thorn curls,
purple-eyed piercing stare, and insinuations.

The second weed, my middle brother, a fluff haired dandy-lion,
stayed only long enough to send runners
in the misleading random directions.

The third, my youngest brother,
trying to grow tallest for attention,
and being a tickle-weed who
never failed to please,
did his best to coax a wry smile from
underneath the chin of his well-pleased Mother.

Melissa A Howells Meloo from her much older
Tilt-a-World. thinking of the past
Copyright August 6, 2013 All Rights Reserved By Author

I love my family, here and no longer here.

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