meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Small Sentry

Wake And Remember

Silent Endings

In Layers

How I Think That About Every One...



All My Children ( CATS ARE PEOPLE TOO)

Unknowing

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Call This Our Autumn

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

It Feels Better To Be Unfinished (Wish-Unspoken, But With My Eyes)

Evidence

Afterwards...

Falling Leaf, Falling Man/Woman, Rising Star

It Comes At Night

The Hot Seasons

Perhaps I Too, Was Frozen

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)

Oh What A Fall

Last In Class

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)

I Long For Stars

From The Point Of A Star

Someone Send Out A Search Party

This Is It

If I Were Your Island....

Spokes Spoken

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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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