meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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The Make-Up of Molecules

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Dragons

HOW



EVENTUALLY...

THERE WILL BE MORE ...

At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

Unseen, The Lilacs And The Daffodils

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

A Man Of The Clouds

The Cruel In The World (Blue Bag Metaphor)

Somtimes in Surrender

Encounter Before Dawn

Shedding Your Skin

Liminality

A Smattering Of Mattering (How Do You Matter)

NEEDING /KNEADING MORE (sometimes)

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

Not My Season

I Will Return

Like The Wind In The Middle Of The Night

The Hoping

Better To Bend Than Be Broken (CHANGE)

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

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A Man Of The Clouds


this morning the fog
closed in
and ate up the world

looking down
to the ground
I found
it was gone

it felt like clouds
surrounded me
and I was
like the man from Swift's epic tale
who lived up in the sky
and only used a ladder to climb down
when he chose to
get a closer view

he took all of his showers
up there
in mostly peaceful clouds
and slept on a wind-swept bed of air
( except for an occasional thunder storm...)

his perspective and perch
were so unobstructed
he may have thought that surely
he had seen it all...

high altitude and
lofty heights can change
a person's perceptions
and also your ideas about
what and who are small

I think audience...
its important to notice this...)

the man's only problems were
his mostly his loneliness
and a propensity
towards being perpetually wet
behind the ears

his Mother too
lived up there with him
at the opposite end of the cloud
for all of her years
but when she died
all of her came tumbling down

its so true
we all must someday
hit the ground

some of us do this running
some of us
don't know how to get up
some simply fall

it makes me wonder
how
life among clouds
would be

maybe simpler
but lonely
and stormy
from being too
far far away

all of these thoughts
I pondered
this morning
as the fog
slowly ate up the world.

**********
LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 8;52 PM PST NOVEMBER 23 2019
stream of consciousness poem directly to the page
AND ALSO FOR THIS WRITER/POET MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO
FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD










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