melissaahowells

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All Beings Considered

I Long For Stars

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

So Glad I Met You

Max on the max



A Man Called Tsuris

Ramada

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

After Wide Sargasso Sea

The Differences

Great Spirit

Self-Improvementizing....(yes, I made up a new word)

The Off Brand

Out On The Street

Taking Up Alley Living

Big Is No Little Adjective. (revised)

Liminality

YOU DO NOT GROW OLD

I Came From Water

Every One of Us Has a Door....

21st Century Proverbs...more will be added, you wait and read...

The House Is Alive

THEY NAMED ME ENOUGH

THE CRYPT OF THE KEPT AND THE KEEPER

UNDECIDED

THE MILES THAT ARE LEFT TO GO...

To Them, I am Dead, I am Dead

I Need To Fly

Burying the Dark

Knock, Then Come Through

Being Ourselves...

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NEEDING /KNEADING MORE (sometimes)


she's been elusive
waylaid by weathering
certain storms
the snowfall of dreams
and the green squalls of the past
or
maybe,
the currents devised
by recent deluges of rain

fairness and fairer weather
don't loom-- yet
on my horizon

I've no coat
nor boots
nor steady guide
nor sure footing
my goat legs slip and wobble

only an unusual
persistence
prods me forward

where am I?
and this illusion
like a cliff I climb
but might fall from

its a journey
like high mountain peaks,
or balancing on a cloud,
struggling through buffalo grass,
scanning an endless ocean
for an island
or being lost on
in a storm on the moors

misadventure comes
when my scattering of clues
contained within my words
remain lost
misinterpretted through the filtering
of multiple misunderstandings

its easy to be intpretted
but more common
to be misconstrued

I need a destination
a home in my language
and description
its not a comfortable nest
I am not a prescription
written to meet another's need

WHERE is the echo of me
described so carefully
in purposefully chosen syllables...
are they dancing and tossed out there
somewhere
lost among the howling desert winds?



LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 7:31 JANUARY 3 2019
TIME/DATE STAMPED AND ALSO FOR THIS WRITER
MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED
SITE TITLE:MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD

I think of writing poetry sometimes as making a recipe
or painting a canvas, the words and thoughts being the
paintbrush and the poem...the painting...as I perceive it.
Sometimes the artist wants the seer to see the idea
as it was formed in her mind...and not altered by
supposition or the airbrushing of other opinions...
see the difficulty in the creation, the expression
in the brush strokes, all the details and even the mistakes
and still come away with an appreciation of the whole of it.
I do not make a habit of explaining myself. I am not obtuse.
Contained within the minutia of the above poem are necessary
details...all of which are in every way the sum total of me.
As I say somewhere on my homepage....let the reader come and
figure you out, your poetry...and not substitute simply their
own interpretations. And it is all good and especially fine
to say your truth and find your own voice...I encourage you all.





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