melissaahowells

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For Another Mean New Sun.

THE POCKET DOOR

Dragons

Nameless

Night Train



HOME

Different

wandering the rolling hills ...(written for his model)

All You Have To Do Is Breathe....

Funny, Not Funny

cat speech

A Start Again...(I Green-Dreamed Again Last Night)

Checking Out

All The Changing....

two out of three people

Lonesome Love

A Dog Should Have His Tail...

Some Children Have Nightmares (tentative title)

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Last Night

Only The Choice To Be

With Words, I See A World I No Longer Fit In

of my battered heart

Devious

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month

When People Go

Weak In The Knees

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Words

The Finisher's Song

In March (Finally, Spring 2016)

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

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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
people like you and me
somebody's children
someone's older babies

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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