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Belle Du Jovan

The Hope Of All These Things Which Would Never Come In a Box

The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Informed Through Pain

All Too Clearly Now

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past


Silver-Tongued Devil


The Factory of Resentments

Expect Yourself

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

One Which Brings Me Unending Release

Where The Weird Actually Tried To Turn Pro


Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back


I Write This To Remember

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

This Snake

What Could a Death Meet-Up Have To Offer?

Where The Dead Don't Mind...

Canis Latrans

I Wish God Had Better Magic

For Another Mean New Sun.




Night Train


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Open Lines


no caring words have passed
between your lips
dear Brother
they're stitched through
with black thread
you've become the dead
as silent as the grave

the past
the truth
are all lost too
your words explode like cannons
in my head

we're un-alike
you said
so we must
consider this a divorce

you  said
I may have been your sister once
but what's between us
has run its course

he's alive
he lives his life
not thinking one jot of me
he lives ever so carefully
high up on a hill
his perch looks down on everyone
and everything

his phone's been changed
his media's blocked
his mailman knows my name
any evidence of me has been
removed from plain sight
it's always been this way

at night
in a dim and darker past
at night
sometimes when I dare dream
he materializes from the mist
I try to cry out
my words not words
but a silent angry scream

his arm thrust up in the sky
sometimes he carries a bow
sometimes he aims arrows at me
barely missing high or low

did we ever know each other
did we slide down a wintry hill
did I make sure you had enough to eat
did I stick up for you and take your blows
so you could rest and sleep

didn't I defend your name
didn't I dodge your Bo-bo jabs
didn't I hear your pain
each time you were pummeld by Dad

no more open lines
nor an open range
you set up all your posts for high fences

this was your decision
not really mine

I've decided
not to get caught this time
in your barbed wire--
I wonder,
what would our Mother say?

legal copyright for this poem 12:07 PM PST
and also for this poet Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World


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