melissaahowells

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The Petty Player Who Rarely Sleeps

I'd Like A Taste (The Wolf Said)

The Crow Is A Black Bird

When I Start to Bloom

I'd Like To Be Your Shirt (when you wake up in the morning)



All Beings Considered

Words Between Edward And Jane

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

The Great Tsunami Of Our Growing Grief written 3/2.2021--retitled 3/14/2021

After Wide Sargasso Sea ( For Those of You Readers Who Have Empathy For the First Mrs. Rochester.)

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Wild and Unraveling

What Must Be

These Hands Exist July 4 2023 rei-edited 7/12/2023

I Am The Color Of Black

The Tide of Your Lies (2019-2023)

How I Wanted Your Pearls 6/24/2023 WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE

Love Wants What Love Wants re-edited 5/31/023

Winter's Been Too Long.... 4/18/2023 (LONGING)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Like A Small Street Dog Lured In By The Promise Of Meat

This Is What Mermaids Dream Of

At Night, As I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

And You Will Be Called Ashes As You Leave ( from a dream)

Certainly No Bread 3/16/2022

Someone Send Out A Search Party

THE FAN , AT NIGHT, GIVES GOOD ADVICE completely re-edited, an entirely different poem

What Is The Price For Your Touch? re-editied 5/31/2023

Where Is My Bed With The Pleasing Tree -Lined View(NOW REEDITED)

Oh What Fine Physics (Before Me ,Lies) re-edtited @4/17/2023

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

THE COMPANY THAT WE KEEP WITH THE ONE WITHIN

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It Was The Best of Your Best That You Had Left To Me, Father


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Swish, swish ,swish
the rocking chair slats slip
as they glide across
the bleach-white hospital floor.


Hush, child, hush
feel your Daddy's warm  hands touch
as he holds his wee  
wriggling fish
in the net of his strong arms.


"Sickly, you may be,
but, soon all will be well.
Your daddy is here
to heal what grieves you.
Your heart does not deceive you.
Safe, you are, now
with me.  No peeps, little sweet. "


(Draping my right arm
around his neck,
I tucked my blond head
beneath his chin to feel
his sharp stubble against
my damp forehead.)


But years go by
and my heart often cries
in fear, worn-out frustration
at the loss of love and time
Father has moved on.

(He said once...)
"We do our best, I guess
...its in this life
some are at their worst
some never pass small tests
some do only what they want
nothing less and nothing more."


I confess, in my mind's eye
I always see him
leaving out some revolving
doorway.
I guess that makes me into
a kind of moping orphan.
Someone who knows she's been left
but still hoping for the kick of
love's endorphin.
 

Sometimes,
I have just these few chances left...
maybe it will only in the next life
if there is a paradise
or reincarnation
for the bereft.


Will we then,
re-unite, Father,
to experience what we have lost?
Or maybe what we really never had?
Do I miss you, Dad?
Or is it the idea of you?


Love does not belong
buried beneath the ground...
but not even there
are you found;
your scattered ashes have
traveled on and
are flowing down a river to
no set resting place.
Many nights I've remembered
the swish, swish, swish..
and the movement of the chair
and you being there
with me.


It is the best of your best,
Father,
that you have left to me.




Copyright October 10, 2013
Re-edited October 17, 2014 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
All Ideas, Rants/Prose, Poetry are the written works of this Writer
All Rights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells/Meloo from her Tilt-a-World






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