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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

I Long For Stars

The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Informed Through Pain

Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

A Man Of The Clouds

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past



Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre


Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself



Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

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Plain Speakin' (Lyrical Poem)

why is some stuff precious
why is some stuff not

and some got to have it all
and some gots naught

some folks sure be something
but some not til its been bought
with their soul

let me tell ya
let me tell ya
it doesn't make any kind of sense
unless you gots the gold
but who does
it seems to me
we mostly doesn't
there might be a dozen cookies out there
but they that gots has eleven
and we be fightin' over that little last one
when is the change
and the promise gonna come?

when I sally forth into
the gutters of my adopted home town's downtown
I see so many orphans
scattered like garbage
with no place to settle in nor settle down

its a shame
an end game
on the long road to misery

so Many walks on by
not noticin'
holdin' noses
over-proud heads held too high
lookin' into Their picture phones
sayin' words like bums
and how I can hardly draw My precious breath

where do They come from
who do They come from...
how doe They turn out that way?

didn't They have a Mother/Father
maybe a family once
don't They know what hurtin's like
why do They not offer up
up some kindness...
instead of lookin' the other way?

then actin' Judge-like
deliberately ignorin' all of them They deem less....

for me I know
this aint no Mother/Father  sort of life
I'm an orphan but an different kinda orphan now
I still gots  me two brothers who don't wanna know me
last and least one another too...
but yet I'm as alone as a Mother-less waif

there's ain't no such thing as forgivin'
we're all just tryin'
to dry up til its time to finally blow away
its just another kind of invisible
like the one I see n' feel each n' every day...

it just don't make no sense
how folks out here
mostly ekeing out a livin'
sieving a life from off the ground
eatin' what only can be found
and dryin' in the sun
like a grape about to be
a raisin

its ain't just a depression
but it sorta is
ain't no one gots a dime
to spare
nor the eyes to see just how you live
nor wants to be your brother/mother/father
they don't got no sight for the poor

let me tell ya
let me tell ya
it don't make no sense
no, it don't make no kind of sense
how all the ghosts are still above the ground
barely alive
yet all the misery
is in plain sight.

legal copyright for this poem/rant 2:51pm PST
and also for this writer Melissa A Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted site title
Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World

the grammar and punctuation and spellings are all
intentional and in some quarters, wholly conversational
and they aren't going change. People don't have to
write the Queens' English to write and be understood.

directly written to the page. edits later.

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