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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. Vote for this poem |
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