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Plain Speakin'

From The Point Of A Star

WRAPPING IT UP RAP... July 9 2018

All Too Clearly Now

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home



Someone Send Out A Search Party

If I Were Your Island....

All Beings Considered

It Is The Rain

I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness

I Long For Stars

This Is It

Its Their Problem

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

the life and times of Medusa

Max on the max

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

For the Years of Dancing (Dance Hall Days Gone)

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Someone Burned The Trees

Crowded Out

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

I Feel Fine(r)

Try To Have A Good Night

Better To Bend Than Be Broken (CHANGE)

A Promise Is

Something More...

STRAIGHT FROM MY TILT-A-WORLD (legal copyright Melissa A Howells 6/13/2018 10:01am PST time/date stamped)

Les Animaux

Ghost Fox

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The Times Have Come Back Of Great Want And Lack, This Is The New Great Depression



they bloom like mushrooms
in the Spring
and seem to take over
everything
but
they're people

they are problems
called eyesores all
and no one cares to hear
their calls
voiceless
useless eaters
when they can find a scrap
dumped into this heap of earth
called planet

have you ever roamed
had no bed to lie in
no safe place to call your own
be pushed around some
then some more
constantly turned on
and turned the cheek on
as if you'd be ignored
and perhaps were invisible
this is a country divisible
along the lines of the haves
and the haves some more
five schmucks in this world
own it all and want to keep it all to themselves
the key, the lock the very store
which might nourish us all
enough to more than just get by

I wonder what does God see when he looks down

I wonder why the well-off don't see
when they look around
I think
I believe
they are gluttonously greedy
deaf, mute and blind
and forever carrying the gavel in their mind
with their life and death judgements
those born on third base
thinking somehow they'd hit the home run

what a mess you've made of this world
are you happy with your meager contributions
your thoughtless accomplishments
is there enough stuffed into your tight little pockets

I hope the villagers gather
from their little tumbling down
fragile tent towns
and the bulk of us good people
and run you monsters out of town


very rough draft
written directly to the page
my city has become a stage for this kind of transition
transitory existence and big money venture capitalists billionaires
interests colliding...and the resulting uglieness and hopelessness
left in its wake.

LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS WORK/RANT/POEM AND ALSO FOR
THIS AUTHOR/WRITER MELISSA A HOWELLS
AND ALSO  FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD

11AM PST October 29 2017. IN 1984 I WAS HOMELESS
RIGHT OUT OF COLLEGE, DUE TO WHATEVER UNFORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCES
ALONE, FRAGILE OCCASIONALLY COUCH SURFING BUT MOSTLY
LIVING ON THE ROUGH, I USED FAST FOOD RESTAURANT WASHROOMS EACH
MORNING TO GET READY FOR WORK. I RECALL A HIGHLY STRESSFUL TIME
IN MY LIFE. A SORT OF SURREALNESS. A SEPARATENESS. A FEELING OF
INVISIBILITY IN THE OPEN. I CAN ONLY BEGIN TO IMAGINE WHAT
THE HOMELESS FOLKS FEEL TODAY BEING TOLD THEY ARE A PROBLEM
AND NOT PEOPLE.






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