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The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

I Long For Stars

All Beings Considered

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

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



Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Cuba Libre

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself



Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

I Write This To Remember


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Some Will

its hotter in town
than it is in hell

the sidewalks are heated pans
the grasses toasted brown
the breezes are hot blasts
the wind cooks the air still

the sun sits low owning the horizon
sullenly emitting its blazing fury

how nothing feels brief
it and we all go on and on...

tomorrow arrives
with  more of the same

weather forecasting
like a fortune teller:
some will perish
some will sizzle and fry

some will pray for a snowflake
maybe a dash of winter relief or
for that a bucket of ice cubes
might fall down from the sky
to quench our misery and
cool our impatient hearts,
swollen heads, hands and feet

how we were plagued and plunged into
last year's deadly winter
now how we're plagued once again

pick or chose your poison
bear what the seasons bring
or dream of a distant oasis
or an island in the tropical rain

June 24 2017 4:25pm PST
legal copyright for this rant and also for
this writer Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted
site title Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World

re-edited June 26th 2017 for more clarity

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