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

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When People Go

The Day You Left (Words From A Half-Remembered Dream)

Wake Wake Wake

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Weak In The Knees

The Finisher's Song

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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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No More Boxes No More Boxes No More Boxes


Look here in
this vacant place
Innocents were killed to
make
way for progress.

Four-storied boxes
or human hives
they stack us in
and call it life,
make way for
progress.

I don't choose to live
by way of trend.
Nor live without a view
of animals nor trees
nor land.
The more boxes they raise,
the less I comprehend.
Make way for progress,
not humanity.

Build it build it
and they will come,
forget the jobs, the wages,
the human hives will hum.
So what if it
is with misery?

We pay off our loans in
double-hell.
The bankers the developers
build at will.
We bailed them out
so they could kill...........

our cuLtuRe, EnVironmMeNt, sPirIt,

perhaps its their Vulture process,
molding our free will?

No more boxes
no more BOXES
for me.
I am free.


My neighborhood is being
ughlified.

People who've lost their jobs and are being
left behind.
And their mortgages are being bought out by
the same three groups of greedy developers
behind doors
1----2----3----

Down go the trees.

Away with the green space.
Away with the food carts.
Away with the neighborhood
culture.

And, perhaps, away with a certain kind
of life and thinking that might never be again.

Yes, this is the Ughlification of America.
Old landmarks and neighborhoods
are going the way of the dinosaur.
Doesn't matter if these places
were on the National Historical Registry anymore.
The developers, their investors found a way
to skirt around this again and again and again...

I woke up one morning and my city was gone.
I thought it was all a bad dream.

We met with the city planners to share our voice
and all they did was say the deal is done.
And stare,
You don't look like us.
We are poor. Not at all like them. No designer clothes and attitude.
They've  got the city house by house snatching it away from
the people who have lost their jobs
their houses and their dreams.

This may eventually  be a landscape of boxes if we don't look out!!!

See me. I am screaming to the blue sky on the boulevard
of diminishing trees: "Please God, No More Boxes!!!!"



Copyright May 30, 2014/All Rights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells/Meloo/Tilt-a-World





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