meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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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

Shrine

Silver-Tongued Devil

TONIGHT

The Factory of Resentments

Expect Yourself

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

One Which Brings Me Unending Release

Where The Weird Actually Tried To Turn Pro

Accountants

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

Errands (WHAT ARE YOUR UNOFFICIALLY APPOINTED ERRANDS?)

I Write This To Remember

Marinate On This

This Snake

What Could a Death Meet-Up Have To Offer?

Where The Dead Don't Mind...

Canis Latrans

I Wish God Had Better Magic

For Another Mean New Sun.

It Came To Me While Doing Laundry On A Sunday Looking For Some Blank Space To Write In Before It Was All Gone...

THE POCKET DOOR

Nameless

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The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past


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feathered sentries
in parking lots
pretended looters
fighting with others
who are not their brothers
over what?

could it be over
what they ain't got...
tiny discarded crumbs
the meagerest ones
too small
to be over-looked
by anyone
except for birds...

they try to choke down
discarded dried up gum
unheathily scattered amongst
the litter
I've even seen them eat
ineatible wrappers
and peck heartily at
holiday glitter

it has been written
it has been read
words of wisdom
that God has said
He that looks out for hungry birds
intrepid little friendless fellow
each and every one

then why so desperate
dashing-diving amid the trash
feathered ones are low on cash

who then has been forgotten
when so many birds
are becoming part of the past
their seasons are nearly done

little birds woebegone
forgotten
among the hulking industry
of man
and robots so fun


when the birds started disappearing
I thought
soon enough with modernity
man/woman wil be done.

the birds are such
un-numbering creatures
unravelings
of distant nightmares
of Hitchcockian past

when you don't treasure
that which is God's
and call it mans'
it will never last

good-bye birds
I am sad
I am nostalgically desperate
see how the feathers fall...

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WHO HAS CREATED THIS DYSTOPIA?
ASK THE CORPORATIONS
ASK THE CHEMICAL COMPANIES
DO YOU WANT A SILENT SPRING?
LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM
12:47am PST NOVEMBER 25 2019
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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