melissaahowells

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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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Shrine


******************************

a shrine is not made
of sticks nor wood
nor stone

but of bones
touches of flesh
sometimes whiskers
sometimes fur
yet
all from the deep yard
of memories

you hold your cold nose near
its narrow grey windows
look in again and again
see the molecules of your breath
collect

sometimes satisfaction taps you on your
slouching shoulder
but more often
the black glove of forgotten-ness

this is grief
your Familiar
you both become lost
the sheets dingy
tear and dissolve

in a sunrise soon
this charcoal will be your house
not made of sticks
nor wood
nor stone
built from the even more
frail bones and flawed flesh
of failing memory

**********************************
LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM
8:45 AM PST/11/2/2019 TIME-DATE STAMPED
ORIGINAL WATERCOLOR MEMORIES/POEM BY MELISSA A HOWELLS
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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