meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Someone Send Out A Search Party

All Beings Considered

If I Were Your Island....

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

A Little Bad Romance

I See A World

Where None Should Grow

Live And Let Live

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This Is It


**********
here
the train tracks are littered
like an ancient sea bed with garbage...
orange needle caps
and someone's lost left shoe
which looks as if there's still
some wear in it yet

further on
I spy
a piece of dirty blue tarp
how it flaps in the wind waving
no longer keeping out someone's rain

beyond an endless ribbon of traffic
disappears into the many horizons
the people inside
will never notice any of this

above
perched like a white cake on a plate
the three-layer house sits
its windowed eyes now shutter-less
and glaring northward sightless into a bracing wind

once occupied by in-towners
now occupied by those from out-of-country
medical professionals who can afford the new Portland

this house now maintained like a fortress
the newly fruiting pear tree lopped down
and pink petunias icing a baker's dozen of
perfectly-matched grey coffin planters

above me
a grey mackerel sky
signifying change
but only a change in the weather

yet little changes here
its a monotony of sameness
same rain
same desperation
last winter
the paramedics dredged up
four people wrapped like blackened cigars
in the elevator
to the ambulance which drove away slowly
with its red light turned off

the mausoleum where I live
......looms right
its inhabitants looking on
notice how
there are only meager improvements in the mix
.....but mostly for the crows
who bank on decay
crows now more suited for this sort of life

I marvel how
how adaptive they are
but
how I was hoping for better...

perhaps I should grow feathers
look up to the sky
spread my blackened wings

***********************************

MAY 7 2018  3:07pm PST date/time stamped/copyrighted
LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM/WORK
AND ALSO FOR THIS WRITER
MELISSA A HOWELLS
AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD





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