melissaahowells

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Knock, Then Come Through

Being Ourselves...

Uncovered

So Glad I Met You

The Blue Buffalo



Little Man Orange--My Mister Peanut Butter Trout

Not Someone's Grand Illusion

Wisdom of the Infinite

The Differences

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

MOLECULES

HOW

Haiku's In Triplicate

THERE WILL BE MORE ...

EVENTUALLY...

The Change In The Change(s)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

EXPECT COMPLICATIONS

A New Clear

What Exactly Comes Next?

Unseen, The Lilacs And The Daffodils

morning thoughts (begin again)

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.

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and also for this poet Melissa A. Howells
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Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World





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