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Not Someone's Grand Illusion

Wisdom of the Infinite

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

The Differences

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

The Voice Lost In the Wires

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

After Wide Sargasso Sea

Great Big Waterproof World

The Storm

I Turn Forward

Patch-Worked Trilogy

And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

Great Spirit

Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)





At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

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Small Sentry

much older now
your whiskers greyed
they told me
how we all get there

my left shoulder aches
in the exact spot
where you once lay in my crooked arm
all night long silent and un-moving

my small sentry
my little bun-warmer

its odd
how it hurts me more
not just when
I  hug myself so tightly
my left shoulder tingles
but in the knowing
it is a lame mimicry
an attempt
to recreate your warmth

legal copyright for this poem/ode
and also for this writer Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted site titel
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World
November 2, 2018 11:01pm PST time/date stamped
An homage/ode to Sweet Boy, Tigger Le Pounce. Always and Forever.
re-edited because Tigger deserves the best 11/5/2018 12:09PM PST

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