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The Inner String

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

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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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