melissaahowells

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UNDECIDED

Patch-Worked Trilogy

To Them, I am Dead, I am Dead

Uncovered

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



Knock, Then Come Through

Elise, Elise

The Blue Buffalo

Little Man Orange--My Mister Peanut Butter Trout

I Write This To Remember

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

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

Lemonade Days and Rhubarb Pies

The Cruel In The World (Blue Bag Metaphor)

HOW

EVENTUALLY...

THERE WILL BE MORE ...

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

A Man Of The Clouds

Somtimes in Surrender

Encounter Before Dawn

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Not My  Season


can I write something simple
filled with ease
and not the malaise
or saccharine happiness
of the season

to not be joyful
seems a paltry charge
to be made the case for high treason

I will claim my innocence
instead
and keep quietus--
renew my vows
not participate
in the merry riot-ness
of the too near and maddening crowds

already I sing aloud
in the shower--
and its not caroling
but vocables and blues
the music I choose

like all my other choices
I live my life to please me
I'll  make no joyful noise
but gladly make a compromise
to declare peace
and a silent night.

Legal copyright for this poem 3:46 PM PST 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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