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The Hoping

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Some Children Have Nightmares (tentative title)

Night Train


wandering the rolling hills ...(written for his model)

All The Changing....


Lonesome Love

two out of three people

A Start Again...(I Green-Dreamed Again Last Night)

The Little Bird Said

cat speech

Funny, Not Funny

All You Have To Do Is Breathe....


A Dog Should Have His Tail...

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Checking Out


Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Last Night

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month


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

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What  Butterfly Must Do

the front door speaks

Father comes home
leading the way
into the darkness

he does not offer me
his hand

he's occupying the door frame of my
bedroom (the first one on the left)

he is a large man
powerfully built
my intuition knows
something's off

I quiver

in my winter bed:
I am the leaf dangling
at the end of a bare branch

from his tall shadow
I must turn away
I'm afraid

what will happen?

his elongated form
bends forward
menacing against the wall
arms oddly extend from his boxer's broad body

I hear a heavy shuffle-dragging of feet forward

the blanket wrapped around me is
no cocoon

a percussive puff escapes from beneath
my blankets
(an inhalation from a make-shift breathing hole)

"Butterfly..." he hisses in my direction

I hear whiskey in his sidewinder words
(his slant-eyes have spied me)

my leaf shivers,
falls from the branch
I am now fully awake
in the early icicle dawn

doing what I can to prepare,
I brace for the heated lash of his anger

when the West Wind suddenly rises,
my Butterfly Heart knows
to fly away
to the another country of
high mountains

the place
beyond here
the place
of my birth where
I know
I will be free.

Copyright May 5 2015 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt-a-World
All Ideas/Poetry/Prose/Rants are the Expressed Legal Property of This Writer

thank you for reading.

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