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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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The Hot Seasons


few would ever own
few rarely ever see
the years
the drubbing hours of
the hot seasons that have lived through me

every ten years they come
encouraged to arrive right when
the temperatures rises
the moon dives down to the earth
tides turn
winds are relentless
even when you don't hear them
speak and complain

and my heart begins to believe
it won't ever possibly mend again
then I feel the rain on my face
a whole deluge of it
but none of it is falling

every ten years
predictable
with teeth and claws
the heat drags itself in
reminding me
how life can mean continual compliance
how
I'm destined to repeat
like-trials
how
I must do much more than pass/fail
then win

failing cannot be  an option
or
the heat will wing victory
over me
as surely as the grass turns brown
and forests burn
as surely as a crow opens its mouth
to gulp in air to cool itself
as surely as the madmen fill  cloudless skies
with bizarre embroidery webs of vapor
oozing
a child's watercolor tilted
down upon us

how a little Lot of pain must disperse
as if we've purchased it
but it has all the rights
and if we struggle and wade through
flailing
hoping we will learn to swim
and
waiting for the cool of autumn
the change

I've had at least
six hot seasons
my unlucky number
but I would have preferred
six summers

in the night
mirrored
I see them peering
in the twitching glances of my eyes
I know their whisperings in my restless sleep
they tell me I am theirs to keep
those monsters
those devils
the hot seasons.


LEGAL COPYRIGHT 6;41 AM PST AUGUST 15 2018 TIME DATE STAMPED
FOR THIS POEM/AND ALSO FOR THIS WRITER MELISSA A HOWELLS
AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE-
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD.

1966/1976/1986/1996/2006/2016





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