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.)

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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The Sky Reflects


the sky reflects
yes

the sky reflects
what I reflect
how I reflect
it thinks as
I would think

grey on grey on grey
with little spots of blue
in between

and here now:

the crow bobs in
hops flops nearly falling down
then startled
takes wing
I am in HIS wings
flying

I see in him
my blacker self
feathers askew
and a halting gait
lop-sided

we mind how others mind us
or do we
mind
how we are deemed
to be

his voice
is my voice
betrays a certain vibration
annoyance or
a choice

I hear his loneliness
a cry
that is a cry
of me


is his call
defeated
beaten down

scorn-filled
a bitterness or pall
is it pain or bad chance
or the un-simplification of
some great difficulty

yet
how I am rooting for him

see how his
courage propels him upwards
as he one-foot hops
into the sky

it takes a lot
to stay
alive
and
to fly above
the fray of
continually scattering
feathers

do both crow and I
being born to the flock
find the need of
lone flight (a lot)

is this the reason
I crave the wide plains
of sky?



Copyright May 23, 2014/All Rights Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells/Tilt-a-World

Copyright June 11/2015 re-edited All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt-a-World/Copyright Site Title
All ideas/rants/poetry/prose is the expressed legal property of this writer.

Thank you kindly for reading.  I write this poem in gratitude for a return to
health. The crow gave me hope.





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