melissaahowells

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The Petty Player Who Rarely Sleeps

I'd Like A Taste (The Wolf Said)

The Crow Is A Black Bird

When I Start to Bloom

I'd Like To Be Your Shirt (when you wake up in the morning)



All Beings Considered

Words Between Edward And Jane

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

The Great Tsunami Of Our Growing Grief written 3/2.2021--retitled 3/14/2021

After Wide Sargasso Sea ( For Those of You Readers Who Have Empathy For the First Mrs. Rochester.)

WAITING ON THE WORLD (March/February 2021 poetry)

Wild and Unraveling

What Must Be

These Hands Exist July 4 2023 rei-edited 7/12/2023

I Am The Color Of Black

The Tide of Your Lies (2019-2023)

How I Wanted Your Pearls 6/24/2023 WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE

Love Wants What Love Wants re-edited 5/31/023

Winter's Been Too Long.... 4/18/2023 (LONGING)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Like A Small Street Dog Lured In By The Promise Of Meat

This Is What Mermaids Dream Of

At Night, As I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

And You Will Be Called Ashes As You Leave ( from a dream)

Certainly No Bread 3/16/2022

Someone Send Out A Search Party

THE FAN , AT NIGHT, GIVES GOOD ADVICE completely re-edited, an entirely different poem

What Is The Price For Your Touch? re-editied 5/31/2023

Where Is My Bed With The Pleasing Tree -Lined View(NOW REEDITED)

Oh What Fine Physics (Before Me ,Lies) re-edtited @4/17/2023

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

THE COMPANY THAT WE KEEP WITH THE ONE WITHIN

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After Wide Sargasso Sea ( For Those of You Readers Who Have Empathy For the First Mrs. Rochester.)


And is it like me...
this dark inner paradise
and is it like me
these rising tides
and crashing waves
the seas-a-rolling
and is it like me
these inner darkening clouds
and is it like me
this tempest
this anvil-shaped heart
this inner insistence growing...

I have been
tossed high up into the mountains
hidden deep dark down in the gloom and the green
I am the moss and the moldering
I am the loss and the feigned innocence now
from a time when power was cruel
and decays with the graves and the dust
I am the ashes and the damp-blood clay
trampled beneath bared feet
I am the fading light of my failed reflection
Why am I Not
this money-tempted man's rued distraction?

high in his cardboard rooms
cloistered as a nun
the sun now lost to me
only the flames of the candles burn
the sun no longer a memory to me

author/poet retains all legal copyright for this poem/work
5:33pm PST April 8 2020 time/date stamped
and also for this legally copyrighted site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World
by this poet/author Melissa A. Howells

I am for the Underdog, the Lost, the Unrequited and Forgotten.
Written after a third and thorough reading of Jean RHYS's  timeless
classic Wide Sargasso Sea...a reworking of Jane Eyre and the deemed less-
than-heroic of Heroines, Antoinette, AKA by her Mother's name Bertha.





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