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

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Devious

Checking Out

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home



Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month

Words

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...

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

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what is dreaming?


I am asked to make a pizza.
Each one is in the shape of a heart
and the dough is blood red.
After it is baked
they, the hungry ones, devour it,
laughing, saying:
"Weren't we starving and
didn't she taste good."
Ruddy rings surround their mouths which are
filled with row upon row of sharply pointed teeth.

I am staring into the future when
a man and a woman remark:
"My what lovely unusual eyes you have,
such a deep deep blue they are."
"You must see a lot with eyes such as these..."
I reach up to feel my eyelids,
but the couple, my eyes are gone.
My hands instinctively reach forward
groping.

I am walking and soon I tire.
I find a wide grey rock and sit down
to rest and think.
A small slumping man approaches me
smirking:
"Tired, eh?" (Snickering under his breath.)
"Are you lost child?" (More snickers.)
"Or, have you lost your way to get there?"
(Guffaws and hands rising and falling in the air
like some grand joke.)
I cannot speak. Merrily the Rumpelstiltskin skips
away. Tucked under one arm are my feet and blue-suede boots.
I stand, forgetting, and immediately fall over
in pain.

Then, from a birds-eye view I can see me,
lying on the ground,
crumpled, heap-like.
Exhausted. Without a stray hound's chance
at hope.

An itch begins in the middle of my back,
traversing each shoulder blade.
I rise spontaneously supported by
two newly fledged broad grey wings.

You've gotten back more than
you have lost. I whisper.

I wake.
What is dreaming?
Pain, loss, redemption?
Much more than that.
What are dreams?
Invisible insights made real.
Blessings demanding notice.
 

Copyright October 28,2013
All Rights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells/Meloo from her Tilt-a-World






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