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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

I Long For Stars

The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Informed Through Pain

Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

A Man Of The Clouds

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past



Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre


Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself



Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

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written in December before Christmas **

pay no attention
to the rise and the fall
of the sea water,
your tears
and your fears...
they are the snakes hissing
a false sermon.

at times were you
treated like vermin?

not performing the right function.
misery is now the injunction.
that pouch-billed b*tch,
is feeding you her regurgitated

and you are swallowing.
your chest now a hallowing,
an empty niche where your heart used
to sleep.
hush now, come now,
not a peep.

this news is a test,
a harbinger, at best.
he was the
son to his Mother,
and she not the Mother
to you.

its an odd time
for thinking of favorites.

she's beyond speech and
here, she's left you her broach
and gifts of all her best lovely jewels.
yet, you find life is curious
and cruel?

fine words would have been
much better gruel.
wasn't it love you
were seeking?
fine food for a fool.

now you slide beneath the water
and waves. there is a certaintly
we will all grow towards our
graves. some even too soon.

and what of this
misappropriated portion of grief?
from which you are finding no
unrelenting relief?

quelle bon chance,
it is tied to the holiday
and makes of your birthday
a bl**dy fine blossoming
funereal wreath.

**the first poem written in anger after
my Mother's untimely death

Copyright written January 2007
most recently rediscovered November 3,2013
Melissa A Howells /Meloo Tilt-a-World

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