melissaahowells

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Little Man Orange--My Mister Peanut Butter Trout

Wisdom of the Infinite

THE STITCH IN THE TELEPHONE WIRES

The Differences

I Turn Forward



The Storm

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

The Make-Up of Molecules

I Will Return

Marinate On This

A Smattering Of Mattering (How Do You Matter)

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

from the tomb of three days sleeping

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

Lemonade Days and Rhubarb Pies

Life Among Clouds

HOW

EVENTUALLY...

THERE WILL BE MORE ...

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

A Man Of The Clouds

The Cruel In The World (Blue Bag Metaphor)

Somtimes in Surrender

Encounter Before Dawn

Great Spirit

Shedding Your Skin

Liminality

NEEDING /KNEADING MORE (sometimes)

WHAT WILL YOU THINK GENTLE READER, AFTER YOU'VE FINISHED READING THIS?...We Are All Star Children

Not My Season

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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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