meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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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

Plain Speakin' (Lyrical Poem)

All Beings Considered

It Is The Rain

Like a Small Child Tucked Into

I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness

Its Their Problem

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

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Afterwards...


usually I feel better
mostly
only afterwards

writing is akin to
an aching
an opening up of the wound
a blood-letting
to release poisons
into torrents of words

disappointment
frustrations
everyday hurts
they take their toll

some poisons are more effective
because they seem to choose me
why do I let them chose?

who in their right mind
would choose poison
its not as if almonds
improve the complexion of the mind

but
here is my sweet sip
a-bubble
in its pretty blue cup
the one with swaying blue willows

drinking it up
for me
really
isn't much of a choice

why then
would I even choose?



LEGAL copyright for this poem
and also for this writer
and also for this legally copyrighted
site Title: Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World.
7:23am pst after one very long night





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