melissaahowells

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The Nature Of Water

THIS IS MY CORNER OF THE UNIVERSE, ENTER WITHIN

the wonder that always shall be...

Do You Gather Up Your Days The Way Others Collect Wild Butterflies?

Tender Love New And Quick...



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

The Man On The Red Bicycle (an ode) RE-EDITED 12/4/2021

Stray Cats and I have an understanding... 11/23/2021 copyright

If It Does Them Any Good At All 11/16/2021 date/time stamped

OUTSIDE-THE CROWS 11/14/2021

Still, More Time NOV 6 2021

The Wonder Cat

Little Bundle I Call Joy

AUGUST 1977 (IN THE REMEMBERING)

Wishing Them Onto Better Days

Seize This Day, The One You're With

Only Grief....

Forgive Me (GHUEY-BOY)

The Loving Art

OUTER SHELL

The Stars Go Out

Soothe (re-edited 1:40Pm 8/17/21 for clarity for me as a five year old)

No One--I Know Who I Am

At My Gnarled Feet 7/27/2021

Here, After?

Burning The Trees Into Ghosts

Only The Lonely.... (its not about what you may think...)

And The Next, And The Next..... (written directly to page, will return later for edits)

My Truth Is Out There (re-edited for clarity of thought and image later)

All My Friends Are Dead, It Seems....

The Better Poem

Crimson Crush (Re-edited and Mispellings Corrected 6/11/2021)

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THE STITCH IN THE TELEPHONE WIRES


dialing the number
the one which is automatic
reflexive
my fingers have it memorized

235-0315

a number before there were the
obligatory ten
before the country exploded into
a cacophony of unrecognizable area codes

the line rings
expecting a voice so real
its nearly like my own
there's a dark echoing across the wires
I can hear the darkness behind her
its not her darkness
but my own

answering I say hello
like an actress saying her lines
rehearsed to perfection
pacing with the chord entwined between fingers
delivering my soliloquy
but the background betrays silence
no one is in the audience
only empty seats in long lines of darkened rows

its the persistence of memory
which makes me wait for an answer
the shadows of realization
the darkness of negativity acknowledged:
she isn't there
but somewhere and some way
(I bargain with myself)
she does know where she is

what is there-- is the sway
of the suspended wire stretching,
tightening and loosening,
measuring the strength
of the distances between us
in the strong prairie winds

somewhere what's left of her
is stirring through the air,
a sort of current

the spectral shaved wooden once-trees
raise their stiff arms to the Great Spirit
pantomiming as Ghost Dancers
in a fixed line stitching the prairies to the coast
where I live waiting for
my overdue answer

the Earth is Our Mother
but who will take care of my own?

in prayer flags
and through telephone lines
and in storm clouds measuring a horizon
or in birds in flocks on the wing?

where is she--
is she now
in everything?


LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 9:15AM PST 7/13/2020 time date stamped
and also for this poet/author Melissa A. Howells and also for this
legally copyrighted AND registered site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World.








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