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Wake And Remember

Unwelcomed Like So Much Unfinished Business

In March (Finally, Spring 2016)

All For Algernon

Weak In The Knees

The Finisher's Song

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

All Beings Considered

This Is It

Max on the max

I Long For Stars

Falling Leaf, Falling Man/Woman, Rising Star

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Its About Waking In The Middle Of The Night And Having To Write It All Down

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

If I Could Be The Sky...

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

Yes, You--There

With Words, I See A World I No Longer Fit In


Two Better Pasttimes. ( A Bit O' Rant)

All My Children ( CATS ARE PEOPLE TOO)

How I Think That About Every One...

In Layers

Old Hunters Of The Fall

Silent Endings

All In The Family (Family, What A Concept)

Call This Our Autumn

Small Sentry

All Too Clearly Now


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Depression is a deep blue bowl
with old sour milk
in which the mouse nearly drowns
because he thinks only of how thirsty he is
and not how to climb out.

Sadness is that same blue bowl
with a wide crack
which is a means for the light to escape
and move on to a new place
the mouse,
doesn't even enter into the equation.
he's left the room to move on
and find his next piece of tasty cheese...
such is the difference between these two storylines.

The unknowing dream is a dream
in which there is a sticky thin sheet
so filmy I walk into it
and get caught.

I see Her
and find I cannot move on.

She's frail, precious and pale
a singular puff-cloud negotiating
a sky of darker clouds
wearing a sack-gown of daisy flannel

Sitting Indian-style
wide-eyed in front
of a box blaring inscrutable language
She's barely aware of me...
Hello isn't a word
which registers
until a new light enters into Her eyes.

But I  wait and I wait
and the gauzy film once thin
now grows opaque.

The incoming waves of Her thoughts
have cast me adrift off to sea...
She doesn't know me.

She is as Real As Flesh
to me
but I have no name
I am eclipsed
I have no address
for the Collapsed House
of All of Her Memory.

legal copyright for this poem
directly to the page
and also for this writer

Melissa A Howells
and also for this legally  copyrighted site title

Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World
7:11am PST October 19th 2018.
9:56 PM final edit Friday October 19, 2018 PST

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