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In My Humble Opinion

Knock, Then Come Through

Being Ourselves...

So Glad I Met You

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I Turn Forward

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

Beyond Door Number Three

After Wide Sargasso Sea

All Beings Considered

Great Big Waterproof World

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

Little Man Orange--My Mister Peanut Butter Trout

Someone Send Out A Search Party

The Blue Buffalo

THE STITCH IN THE TELEPHONE WIRES

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

The Differences

Wisdom of the Infinite

Not Someone's Grand Illusion

The Storm

Patch-Worked Trilogy

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

Prairie Town Progress

Great Spirit

Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

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Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall


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within the Green Wind becomes the fall
and within the Wind
Who carries it all
sifting leaves and their branches to the ground
I have seen the Wind
toss it all
yes I have

I think the Wind has fingers
I've seen It tug and grab at leaves
I'm certain the Wind has a mighty breath
I witnessed It break the tallest trees

I heard the Wind and Its powerful voice
I've heard It as it flattened
then nearly swallowed a small town
with Its singular mouth

I think the Wind suffers from loneliness
without having a choice
I've never seen It stay in one place too long--
not ever long enough to make a friend
or to find a place to know


I think the Wind can be greedy
covetous and unkind
I've seen It steel everything all at once
within It
and then pick up like a ball
and go

I think the Wind might be envious
I've seen It slap gulls and geese
I've seen It mow unsteady people down
face first onto the ground

I think the Wind also grows weary
with Its constant movements
and the need to prove It is there
I've seen the Wind sputter suddenly
the renew with a fury and groaning and a wail

does It know of Itself
does It know It must continue on and on
to places and vistas It cannot know
is It forever-friendless
is that why It cries and carries on so

It is in the ushering in
and the change to every season
you and I know

and now
within gathering of the Paling Green Wind--
goes of the Summer-Green
and then becomes
the Fall.

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LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE
1:17PM PST SEPTEMBER 8, 2019 AND ALSO FOR THIS POET
MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD

** The capitalization is for personification purposes.





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