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Not Someone's Grand Illusion

Wisdom of the Infinite

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

The Differences

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

The Voice Lost In the Wires

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

After Wide Sargasso Sea

Great Big Waterproof World

The Storm

I Turn Forward

Patch-Worked Trilogy

And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

Great Spirit

Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)





At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

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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

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.
(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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