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

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Devious

Checking Out

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home



Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month

Words

Only The Choice To Be

When People Go

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

Wake Wake Wake

It Is In The Rain

Dream Goblins Of The Night

Wake And Remember

Unwelcomed Like So Much Unfinished Business

In March (Finally, Spring 2016)

All For Algernon

Weak In The Knees

The Finisher's Song

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

All Beings Considered

This Is It

Max on the max

I Long For Stars

Falling Leaf, Falling Man/Woman, Rising Star

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Its About Waking In The Middle Of The Night And Having To Write It All Down

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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something better to run to...



its a stare down
yellowed glowing eyes
and grabbing octopus arms
I'm running down a hall
which never seems to end
and suddenly begins to telescope
backwards

he is waiting along a
long dark walkway
in the trees
a shadow I cannot
quite comprehend
he moves stealthily nearer but
I cannot

I am falling
hoping to fly
there are tree limbs within reach
but I have no hands
I flap my stumps and webbed feet
a gaping mouth yawns below
I feel its heated breath tickling my toes
and grab at the next branch with my teeth

I hear the snarl of
a great bear-dog-beast
of impossible pedigree and size
it has meat hook paws
a saliva'd mouth like foaming fondant candy
red eyes trained on me
sniffling snorting
I am running but can never seem
to out-distance what I hear
I am treed but he/it
is using an ax

several
masked creatures lean over me
drooling
I am masking-taped to a cold gurney
my mouth moves sideways like pulled taffy
a pile of bloodied teeth lay in a silver tray
beside me
they are slit eyed I hear them inside my head
whispering just loud enough
I would rather not listen
they use familiar voices of the long dead
my grandfather/mother, father and mother
I am not convinced
wake up number thirteen wake up I scream

draw your nightmares
make a sketchbook of your fears
see the pages speckled with dried tears
write them down for your own posterity
does the light illuminate
does the darkness seep in
little awfuls grow into big bad fears
see how they can cannibalize your nerves

so I draw my nightmares
to illustrate how you can face your fears

if you are no longer running
you will find something better to run to


Copyright 7/26/2014 All Rights Reserved By this Author
All Stories/Poetry/Ideas are the Legal Property of this Writer
Melissa A Howells/Meloo/Tilt-a-World
 





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