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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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You Never Know What  You Will Hear Riding On A Bus


this is more prose than poetry...though
the insights to me seem poetic...


"Starlight represents something so distant
but necessary." She said. And her eyes actually
twinkled as she spoke. "Necessary but cannot
literally be grasped." Huh? And then I thought about
how often I had grasped at starlight with my heart
each time I had gazed heavenwards. It was possible.
Possible. Literal, in my way. But I liked what this
woman on the bus had to say. She got me to thinking
about stars and about God.

"Its better to live in here." He said with absolute
conviction. I glanced over at him trying not to be
a snoop. It is not often you hear this kind of
forthrightness. He was pointing to his heart. "What do
you mean, Sir? asked his elderly female bus companion.
"Do you mean from the heart? Because I try to do good
deed every day too." "Not quite, he replied..."I mean, I
live my deeds a bit more secretly. I do good deeds on the sly.
And I live as quietly as I can. Leaving a small foot
print. I listen more than I speak." And then he suddenly stopped
speaking." Whoa. I thought. That's a real kind of "authenticism."
He's a true pioneer. Then, I got really quiet inside.

In a discussion about gentrification of our neighborhood
this sentence came up one night coming home. A young fellow began
defending the historical significance and beauty of our Southeast
neighborhood. He said "I truly value where I grew up! The large trees,
the old houses, the diverse people...they make up my identity.
These turn of the century houses make up the character of
the neighborhood and ought to be valued and preserved." In a nutshell,
he uttered the unexpected. I spoke up "A 100 year old house is just like
a 100 year old tree, once its gone, it is gone forever."
I surprised myself. Then I was quiet. But I felt strong inside.
The young man smiled at me as he got off the bus. I prayed
for the trees and the houses.

You never know what you will hear, riding on a bus.


Copyright January 5, 2015 All Rights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells/Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World
All poetry/prose/rants/ideas are the legal property of this writer
***** insights taken from bus rides spanning 2003-2014 ******

Thank you for reading






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