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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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Hope And Loss Two Fraternal Twins of The Same Reluctant Mother


hope and loss
are fraternal twins
of the same Mother.

loss
has been tugging at my
torn
grasping
grubbing
fingers...

and kicking
my feet out from
underneath me
as I
have attempted
to scale
the tall craggy cliffs
of pain.

is hope
out there...
somewhere
in the ether?

or is it malingering,
like a nightmare or a
a damp, heavy cloud?
or does it exist
simply,
in my imagination...
diffuse and everywhere,
but without
a single foothold or real form?

I wish I knew hope...
but, hope has no face.
it is a stranger to me.
hope is wary.
I believe
it leaves me, purposefully, at times,
all alone.

but, Life
can be so tenacious and real...
that when given a 50/50 chance
Life will bite down
on the bit
and then dare itself
to catapult
forward into
the
maelstrom
or back
into
the
abyss
again and again.
not asking why or when...

Life never wants to give up.

yet hope
has been for me,
a kind of demon-weight,
a kind of wh*re.

more expected and terrifying,
than pray-ful.
more profane,
than any comforting Madonna,
more the Mother whose words
you might prefer at times to ignore.

do hope and loss walk
together, arm in arm,
and swear they are
they are they are Brothers
Cain and Abel?

mutually do they undo and outdo,
I think,
one another under the table?
two unholy conjoined twins
of the same reluctant Mother.



Copyright March 11, 2014  All Rights Are 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


Re-edited March 12, 2014 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Dedicated to Ghuey/Buddy/M who have all had a very very hard time lately
and to Ghuey who cheated death...may we all live long and prosper, praises be.





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