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In The Sanctuary Of My Head

The Broken-Winged Birds and People (re-edited 4/5/2323 3:03PM PST) (re-edited 11:14am PST 2/23/2023)

The Hell Of Winter (re-edited 4:27pm PST 3/9/2023)

My Grey Haired Love...La La Lullaby , La La Lullaby My Love

THE HEART IS AN ORGAN ON FIRE



When Mr. Bemish Lost His Last Good Pair of Glasses

Kathy Brown Kathy Brown

Something Not Quite Right About Here (Vortex) re-edited 1/26/2023

THE COOL TILES BENEATH MY FEET REMIND ME

The Way Of The Crow

DO YOU TURN THE LIGHTS SO YOU CAN SLEEP?

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

CHRONICLER OF DREAMS

YET ANOTHER ANTI-POETRY POEM ( re-edited 11/2/2022)

You Do As You Please 8/17/2005 found poem, readjusted 6/20/22

HERE WE SIT AT OUR TABLE 2/19/2022

Much Better Than This ( A Conversation With The Universe)

The Straight Story (What Happens When The Writer Inserts You Into Her Story)

THE TIDE CALLED LONELINESS

A Girl Always Leaning Forward Looking for A Breeze

Entanglements

Have You Ever... (DECEMBER 4/2021)

Appetites

How I Still Love You

The Smile Which Eludes @

He Says To Me, I Think Too Much (and hence dream too much as well)

When You Learn Who You Really Are And What Is...

Anti-Poem Number Three 8/2/2022 Or, A Poem Your Proper Mother Wouldn't Write

Breathing On My Own

A Girl Is More Than a Beautiful Box re-edited 10:15pm PST 1/31/22

I LOVE YOU ALWAYS ANYWAY AND INSTEAD

Talk To Me In The Dark 7/8/2022

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Beyond Door Number Three


what's so funny about the end
of something
of things that you thought would remain
a sunrise and a sunset
that clouds always alter themselves
that people who are real smile with their eyes

dark irony is rich
but not in the way it would fill your pockets
more like a blip to the head
with a rusted battle-ax
the sort of alarm clock
that does you in

getting older has its points
and some of them are pins
like pain
unsubtle reminders to once again
rouse you from the daily inertia
of expected routine

life is not what it seems
an unending well
from which to raise a bucket
to quake the thirst

true
you in it does have its worth
and all your persistence
will not keep the end
from knocking at your door
or turning the last page

rage away he once wrote
at the dark spark called life
I didn't always seize it when it mattered
opportunity
those old ghosts of people gone
now scattered

I visit them in my dreams
and still wake to find one beside me
snoring sonorously
in deepest peace...
would I know his sweet relief
to leave the unnecessary of the past
like clothes and shoes you outgrow
and must replace

otherwise the endings
have no flavor
just laughable irony
a clunky space

I was told by someone
that we do not die
just shift into another form

I'd like to put in a request then
I'd like to be a bird
so that when trouble comes
I can fly
and take my flock of friends
for company

if this poem makes sense
like it does to me
then reader
let me know

especially those
at the end of their lives
not knowing quite what to expect
just beyond the door.


written directly to the page Memorial Day 7:02 5/25/2020
as outside people are clanging their pots and pans, whistling
and kazooing and yelling their support of "heroes"
I appreciate this fanfare...but there are other heroes, unsung
and unfortunately, those who will never have their song.

legal copyright for this poem 5/25/2020 7:02PM PST time/date stamped
and also for this poet Melissa A. Howells...and also for this legally
copyrighted and registered site title-Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World

we all deserve to be remembered for something after we've gone...
I hope my words here and my art serve that purpose.





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