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Unseen, The Lilacs And The Daffodils

The Blue Buffalo

Little Man Orange--My Mister Peanut Butter Trout

Not Someone's Grand Illusion

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall



THE STITCH IN THE TELEPHONE WIRES

Patch-Worked Trilogy

I Turn Forward

The Storm

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

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

Elise, Elise

A Bird, A Fly, A Cripple (Pity Poem?)

The Make-Up of Molecules

HOW

Haiku's In Triplicate

THERE WILL BE MORE ...

EVENTUALLY...

The Change In The Change(s)

At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

EXPECT COMPLICATIONS

A New Clear

What Exactly Comes Next?

morning thoughts (begin again)

Encounter Before Dawn

Somtimes in Surrender

The Cruel In The World (Blue Bag Metaphor)

Shedding Your Skin

On the Wings Of A Bird

My Heart Knows Him Still ( For TLP)

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They Grew  (A Poem From The Imaginarium)


the house sat on a hill
as if it would slide down
at any time
below in the valley
was a meadow
in that meadow
were graves
who was buried there
no one knew
but there was lots of speculation

every spring the flowers
in the meadow grew
in great profusion
and represented nearly all
the colors of the rainbow
they grew tall
and filled miles
as the dead slept below

everyone had forgotten
what lay below
when they built the houses
with no foundations
it rained so hard here
there could be basements
and so where the meadows once flourished
the new neighborhoods
began to grow

noboday knew
they were so busy with living
that they'd forgotten
the graves waited below
like the misbegotten
until the noise above
got to be too much
that it disturbed their peace
and caused their release
from the ground below

they begain to show
in places that we people
bought things
in bars
in stores
and in places where people slept
they'd wake in the night
swearing they heard voices
that wept
and voices that groaned
and the voices grew
and the voices asked the living to atone

until one night
a tipped over candle did its work
and the wooden houses danced in the flames
that the rain couldn't put out
and the flames grew hotter
and the flames engulfed
and all the spirits stirred

when the fire was over
and the ashes were sifted
and the rubble was gone through
the graves below
were discovered
then the people knew
and decided to move on
and to resettle somewhere new

and then the meadow began to heal itself
and then the wildflower seeds sprouted
and then they grew
and the spirits sighed
and the lonely winds blew
and it was quiet once more
and peace reigned
and the dead rejoiced
sanctuary restored

don't build upon
where you're not planted
permission eventually gets
recanted
the cacophony of the depths
the earth is un-silent
always reclaiming what's theirs
a-men, a-men.

LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 9/21/2019 11:11AM TIME/DATE STAMPED
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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