meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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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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for what she's worth...


the vastness of the prairie
was too much for them

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

matrimony
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
populace
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
LEGAL COPYRIGHT TO THIS WORK AND THIS SITE TITLE BY THIS AUTHOR
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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