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Uncovered

Unseen, The Lilacs And The Daffodils

The Blue Buffalo

Little Man Orange--My Mister Peanut Butter Trout

Not Someone's Grand Illusion



The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

THE STITCH IN THE TELEPHONE WIRES

Patch-Worked Trilogy

I Turn Forward

The Storm

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

Elise, Elise

A Bird, A Fly, A Cripple (Pity Poem?)

The Make-Up of Molecules

HOW

Haiku's In Triplicate

THERE WILL BE MORE ...

EVENTUALLY...

The Change In The Change(s)

At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

EXPECT COMPLICATIONS

A New Clear

What Exactly Comes Next?

morning thoughts (begin again)

Encounter Before Dawn

Somtimes in Surrender

The Cruel In The World (Blue Bag Metaphor)

Shedding Your Skin

On the Wings Of A Bird

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The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall


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last year the Spring leaves
made a silhouette on my upper bedroom wall
and ceiling
as if God, Himself, had cut out folded paper leaves--
the details so precise and delicate

they were there
adorning the wall for me to see
when I woke up from my late afternoon nap
pantomiming real life
saw-toothed edge crisp
and giving my artist's eyes a gift
of simple yet refined happiness

today I woke and saw once more
the silhouette of the leaves
but the shadows were altered

they remind me
instead of how far removed I am
I can no longer pretend to be perched high
in a tree-house home;
I am not Jane to my partner's Tarzan
this is not a leafed nest
in some primeval rain forest

outside the entire world is ravaged
by mistrust, hate, prejudice and disease
some of it malingering ailments
and others, perhaps, a planned accident
by some careless madman

these all are long ingrained
experiences in the frail humanity
called mankind
it is more than unkind
it is a huge systemic failure
to see and to care and to understand
how much alike we are in our fragility

now as I watch the shadows on the wall
lengthen into night
I am aware that there is also
gathering darkness in my room
my thoughts
only interrupted
by the playing of taps
by a broken tree branch upon
the bedroom window


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legal copyright for this poem 11:47 AM PST June 16, 2020
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





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