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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.)

WAITING ON THE WORLD (March/February 2021 poetry)

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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I Am Sad For Mr Jagger's Girlfriend


Mick Jagger's girlfriend
is dead
He is distraught
over the loss of
his long-time companion.

It is a trend,
they say.
People of a certain age
are dying
dropping like
flies, fallen leaves,
too old,  they've been told,
they've lost their
usefulness.

Value is
bright and shiny and
belongs to youth.

Woe to the dulled
copper pennies
of life, woe
that they feel
a certain uselessness.

Out-moded, they are
yesterday's non-computerized
generation,
looking for meaning but
living well beyond their expiration
dates.

Inferred:
Its not too late
to kick the bucket,
blast yourself back
into the auto-matonic outer space.
Return your star dust
back to God.

How irresponsible of the
Un-News-Worthy Newscaster
to spew her doom over the
airwaves.
"They are dying in waves,"
she brayed...
"Well before their time
and by their own hands."

Are
ages 49 to 64
leaving because
they've been penciled out
of future's plans?

Reaching my left hand right into
the guts of the radio, I wanted
to shake the sunshine from
a voice trained
to be unnaturally
cheerful. Sickened by
her earfuls.

And so, the twenty-somethings
blubber and deplore their
joblessness or underemployment,
much too outraged and crippled by
their school time debt.

At least they haven't been
counted out of
the living,
yet.

I am sad
for Mr. Jagger's
Girlfriend.
Who had her own name.
Who had a birth, and many years in between a shortened life.
Who thought she'd out-lived
her usefulness.

I understand.
She deserves a better
epitaph than long-time
companion.


Copyright March 20, 2014 all rights reserved by
this author/ Meloo/ Melissa A Howells
site: Tilt-a-World





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