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Last Night

Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019


Checking Out

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

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

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

If I Could Be The Sky...

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feeling the rain

the world, my world
seemed altered afterwards
in so many numbered ways.

for me the grey mantle of grief
became my familiar and my
tears were as plentiful
as rain, though they bore no flower
but the growth of despair.

the cancer was all I had
focused on and now with his death
it, and him, were both gone.

battle-weary, I was,
not knowing how to disarm
myself after the war.

where do people go when they die?
I think at the moment of death
the world is forever altered, never to be
the same again. change and death being
the only constants.

if I had extra-sensitive perception  (*)
could I see these lightning bits of flux?
and could I have captured that lightning bolt (his)?
witnessed its flash at the moment
of his death?

would that have made a difference?
would I feel any less rain?

I have several people and critters in mind
as I write this. Animals are akin to people
in my book. Their biggest disadvantage being
the lack of speech. Their greatest advantage
being their unconditional love.

Copyright Tuesday October 2, 2013
All Rights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo/ Tilt-a-World

(*)-- I do mean extra-sensitive, not
extra-sensory...its alright to invent
new ways of saying things.

interesting and odd, how in death,
that death itself seems to be a kind of
cancer to those witnessing it, while,
perhaps, to the dying it is a relief.

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