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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

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

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

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for what she's worth...

the vastness of the prairie
was too much for them

they needed more than being mere
and doers
and menders
and vessels
and vassals

in the nineteenth century
turns out to be some kind of
unholy business

unrecognizable in the mirror
what happens when the children die
the crops fail
the husband doesn't bathe
the days pile up with dust
your wooden floor is made of dirt
and the cattle fetch a higher estimation
than your squandered dowry

a strong woman on her own
is plain and a vexation to the
she sticks out un-marriagable
as a stuck thumb
even though she is more accomplished
and more hard working than any man

it is the look of a woman that makes
one take notice
it is the look of a woman that ties her
to things that will drag her down
to small and slim-to-none prospects
on the way to the nutcracker suite of insanity

what can a woman hope to be
in the nineteenth century

at best the respected wife of a parson
bettering her reputation by
helping out other lost souls
does she have no soul
no hopes of her own
to look out for
no dreams to tend

even the female horse
has no hopes
for she is the sacrifice
it is the heart of the stallion
that keeps the Indian brave alive
to fight another day
it is the female horse
the mare who can be sacrificed
when the warriors are hungry
and need to be fed.

Legal Copyright January 30, 2016 All Rights Are Reserved
 By This Female Writer
Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World/Melissa A Howells
All poetry is the expressed legal property of this Author/Melissa A Howells

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