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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


Checking Out

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

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

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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Time-Time (or Leading With My Chin)

twelve hours the clock has
and I stand near the top of the hour

there are those that would
surmise I'm nearly out of time
I wonder if I've got
enough some days
left to stand in

time is precious
so then, why would I really need to stop
or to dream about how
I've paid for the stuff
or wasted it

why do I stop at all

while these last precious bits
sift through my fingers

haven't I squandered enough

I'll do it no longer

I can't call the moments back
except to recall them

and in some ways
the memory brings bitterness
sometimes a wearying trickle of sadness

but worse at night
comes a uninvited
gnawing anxious fear
a feeling of wasting

it leaves me feeling
scooped out
staring specter-like
into a darkness which seems to expand

I wanted for something more and
couldn't put my fingers 'round it

what's unsettling is
I might've played it safe
so safe that I
kept controversy to myself
not wanting to make any current
until I'd had enough

if I were braver
instead had ridden the crest of the waves

these words come quite easily now
with experience and age
so much that swimming against the tide
is now my past-time

who are these people who seem to
live their lives so effortlessly
while I wear my struggle
an armadillo

I know
I am who I was
leading with my chin

always been told that
I haven't learned
and how to begin
but never would follow another's direction

I have
my own

I see clearly now
for once
that I've taken it

(the mirror reflects
 at times,
back to me,
the deeper scars where I lead
with my chin.)

Copyright directly to the page September 5 2015
All Legal Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells Straight From Her Tilt-a-World

All ideas, rants, poetry/prose are the expressed legal property of this writer/author

Edits made September 9, 2015 for greater clarity

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