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The Hope Of All These Things Which Would Never Come In a Box

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

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do you do
what I do

I simply do
too much

I remember in torrents
floods of words
gather between my ears

I over-think
I need a small
deserted island
where I can listen to the
ocean speak
breathe and simply watch
the sky
feel my mind clear

I need a place
to be one with the birds
flying by

I need

I sleep very little
as of late

or I sleep quite alot
sleep is a pleasant preoccupation
and then
sometimes it is not

I'd like to find some
cumulo nimbus pillows
to rest upon

I'd like a hammock
in a spacecraft
to know what it like to be
beyond the pull of

its time
slow down

your conscience
is speaking

get unconscious now

I hear the humming of insects
I hear the bees buzz buzz
I hear the ocean waves crashing
I hear the wind as it whistles and howls

a sudden silence
beckons with a
sucking out of the room

lets get unconscious

not a moment too soon.

Copyright Melissa A Howells November 9, 2013
All Rights Reserved By this Author

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