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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

Accountants

Shrine

Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre

Dragons

Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself

TONIGHT

I WILL RETURN

Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

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things to write about on the bus


I keep scraps of paper
in my purse
purple pens handy
for situations where
I can improve the moments.

90 degree plus heat
air conditioned malaise
riding through the haze
time for a-musings
notes to self, for myself alone.

never liked the phrase
"the ultimate"
seems to me to be
over-stating the oblivious
both retail/fitness establishments
alike, over-use this ineffective
window dressing
this smacks of marketing 101 failed
twice or one very bored
copywriter.

downtown there seems to be a lot of
non-constructive activity.
people nosh without knowing.
cross streets without thinking.
and the pigeons have odd eating habits.
everywhere birds are pecking furiously
at cigarette butts.

are they blind, desperate or
nicotine addled? These avians
can't seem to catch a break.
and seem more human by the day to me.
they have my empathy. even if others
may think me a sap.

on the home front, a crow family
and I have formed a special bond.
they recognize me as
the official feedbag.
now, nearly every time I exit
my apartment, there is a cacophony
of expectation.

among them, there's a plucky,
fuzzy juvenile. (I do like him.)
I've observe his Mother feeding
him, but also trying to get away
from him more and more often.
the youngster is persistent.
however, the other day, he nearly
fell to the ground, when he tried
to land next to his Mother.
she'd purposefully perched on a
narrower span of wire.
no room for him to alight.
loud squawking ensued.

this must be how all parents
and children feel about one another
from time to time.
still, I feel for the kid.
the confusion of growing up
and all.
childhood can be rough.

recently my apartment manager
chastised me for putting out cool
water outside my door for my diabetic cat.
I eventually was able to finagle "special
terms" with her through the landlord
to do this. an exception was made.
otherwise, I would have paid a fine.
been non-compliant. had a record.

since when have things become so counter-
intuitive? a lot of rules seem to be
over-burdening basic human interactions
and even creativity. what if I forget them
all? what ensues then?

what about those of us, who like me who,
at times, hang back in the weeds a bit? question?
consider options? like to negotiate? discuss? debate?

is there no harm no foul? I am considering
the possibility of Velcro labels.

difficult. activist. lefty.
anarchist?
(since I am usually less inclined
to follow all the rules.)

what colors might these
labels be
so you might remember me.

it fills me with glee.
there are so many choices.



copyright august 5 2014 all rights are reserved by this author
meloo/Melissa a howells straight from her Tilt-a-World

all stories, ideas, rants, dark humor, poetry are
the legal property of this author
thank you








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