meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Laughing Maid

TO BE AN ANGEL...

Some Women/Some Woman

The Knowledge...

Time Does Not Recognize Me



I'm A Slug

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness

I Long For Stars

And Even Stars Die

Crowded Out

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

All Beings Considered

Storms

what makes a monster (sympathy for the monster)

Max on the max

why We celebrate the losers

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

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

The Light Goes On In The Attic (WeAll Have Addictons)

Little Water Bug ( learning the lesson of true pain)

Hope You Enjoyed The Eclipse While It Lasted

Written For My Father Who Isn't Here To Know

I Feel Fine(r)

And With Words I Let Them Go

Used to Think I Could Fix Them.

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

Boy Restored

Life's A Candle

Malla Batsick

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The Knowledge...


I don't require
you to curry my ego
I write mostly to amuse myself
and to mark the passage of
my time and thoughts
because I'm compelled
to translate thoughts into sentences
which would otherwise be transient
thoughts in the night or the
collecting dust on the mantle of
the years of collective memory

How
my thoughts speak to me of
my existence
how I've endured
and am not yet
at the doorstep
out of time

it occurred to me
there's no spot on earth
where death may not have occurred
in some places it has likely occurred more often than others
death has become so commonplace
but I find it so uncommon in its singular last breath

When I look around me
I see its shadow cast everywhere:
a run-over cat
a fragile dehydrated mouse corpse
a frozen hill of ants
a carelessly trampled flower
a crumpled pile of once green leaves
the last fading rays of light rounding the final bend of earth
the evening gatherings of crows
the lost expression on a homeless man's face of my own generation
and on the fixed faces of silent bus riders
where memories of lost love and the accumulation of a lifetime of
disappointments
sometimes malinger
and render the languisher
missing in their thoughts
perhaps paled with mourning at the remembering

How our empathy for a suffering world
often has its shortfalls
its pitfalls
even pratfalls
and not the kindly windfalls of understanding
I was hoping for
even waiting for
in my breathless expectation

should observance be more like:
sitting Shiva
raising  our glasses at the bar
keening aloud at the wake
or the sharing collective memories
which for me are fading chalk outlines of a shared past
for all of those who seem lost to us
or for what is altered and
irrevocably gone

Best to think on simplicity
on gratitude
in the now-ness of being alive
the sounds of my love snoring beside me
the gurgle-gurgling of the coffee churning
in the red light of morning
the cawing of the crows who beg daily for my almonds
and the knowledge
I am here
for one more day of this.


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

10:31PM PST NOVEMBER 13 2017/MONDAY EVENING
TIME DATE STAMPED.
dedication:
thank you Buddy for the inspiring phrase
which set these thoughts and this poem into motion
and emotion.






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