meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

You Are (I'm Here With You)

Joyce Will Soon Be Seventy-Something

All Too Clearly Now

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



Like a Small Child Tucked Into

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Its About Waking In The Middle Of The Night And Having To Write It All Down

in-EFFECTIVE (Fragile)

From The Point Of A Star

Someone Send Out A Search Party

If I Were Your Island....

Spokes Spoken

Plain Speakin' (Lyrical Poem)

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

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

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)

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)

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What It Means To Go Missing


How can I elaborate on
something gone
but not quite here

most parts oxygen
not resembling air
but floating away
far far from itself

what view would describe it
this incalculable thing?

once it was someone
now its become a thing
far far removed
as if it lived in a tower
on a rocky island
in a narrow narrow inlet
surrounded by a Salton sea
once whole but no longer a part
of the whole
a mere farthing of reality

why do people look
but do not examine
don't move too near
its too dear a prospect
to get too close

this specimen doesn't like proximity
nor spectators with spectacles near
this being was once varied and real
but has been altered

somewhere
some spring in her sprung
and now merely falters

the experience of seeing her is
like looking down into the well of a sink
as something shimmers down its pipes
or is it more like
staring up into a rosy-pink morning
trying to recall a distant night...

and
was there ever, youth
how I/you/we feel so-so removed
from myself/ourselves
I've become a stranger gaping
but not daring,
to look in

they say I've always led with my shins
then fallen down
gotten bruised
I never healed well

did they/do they know
you can't stop the deep snows from coming
or what it means to go missing
from your life
as well,
ah, these are truly not
Prognosticators.







Not everything is required to make absolute sense;
however, this makes sense to me and to many I know, now.
And that makes all the difference, to me.


legal copyright for this poem/work/manifesto
and also for this author/writer/poet
Melissa A. Howells and also for this legally
copyrighted site title: Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World

time/date stamped 3:45pm PST February 27, 2018

thank you for reading and constructive
feedback

Re-edited for clarity/punctuation/spelling
on 4/17/2018 2:18PM PST and time date stamped
 and legally copyrighted





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