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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

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Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

Unseen, The Lilacs And The Daffodils

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some days
words seem like sharp sticks
smacked about
and poked in faces
words used to be more reasonable
and didn't insist
they were the law
or the rule
or the example
or even
the very last word
on the subject
any dang subject
words have changed
or is it the mouths
that speak them
and to whom those
mouths are attached
there seems to be a frail link
to the head
nor consequence attached
we no longer look each other in the eye
but banty words
electronically through the air
and without the stare or look
they often lack
but purvey
malice and pride
some words are better
left inside.

LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 12:12 pm PST February 26 2019/time-date stamped
and also for this writer/poet/author Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted website

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