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Laughing Maid

TO BE AN ANGEL...

Some Women/Some Woman

The Knowledge...

Time Does Not Recognize Me



I'm A Slug

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness

I Long For Stars

And Even Stars Die

Crowded Out

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

All Beings Considered

Storms

what makes a monster (sympathy for the monster)

Max on the max

why We celebrate the losers

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

The Times Have Come Back Of Great Want And Lack, This Is The New Great Depression

The Light Goes On In The Attic (WeAll Have Addictons)

Little Water Bug ( learning the lesson of true pain)

Hope You Enjoyed The Eclipse While It Lasted

Written For My Father Who Isn't Here To Know

I Feel Fine(r)

And With Words I Let Them Go

Used to Think I Could Fix Them.

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

Boy Restored

Life's A Candle

Malla Batsick

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A Man Called Tsuris


every October it
would be the same
his troubles would slant in on him
like rain

I asked him
because I knew him
or so I thought I did
why had he traveled so far across the country
to a land in a place where it rained
the way it did

he didn't have the answers
he only said how it rained
and that the rain troubled him so
he didn't carry an umbrella
nor wear a mackintosh
nor have an oar
to paddle his boat
he wasn't collecting animals 2x2

unprepared
he was
for all that rain

he called himself
Tsuris
I heard him say it
very loud and
very plain

he was irascible
he was grumbling like the thunder
he was as unpredictable
as the weather
he didn't know it
but

he was the rain.


Copyright September 20, 2014
All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt-a-World
All ideas/prose/poetry/rants are the legal property of this Writer


There's a person who bears partial resemblance
to this poem. He's a bear of man. Yet I adore him.

We are all, in our own ways, are we not,
unpredictable, grumbling, irascible. No one
escapes this. It is what makes us human.

We love people in spite of their flaws. Why?
Because we have them too? Well, partially, yes.
Partially, too, because its their flaws that make
them who they are to us. Think about it.


Tsuris is the Yiddish word for Trouble.





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