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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Every One of Us Has a Door....


there is a pause
in the night
a crack to fall into
a closet door closed
in which there is no key
I am the only one to open it
it is up to me
I get lost here
but somehow I'm found

I can make the dreams
come around
and mix in whatever ingredients
I decree
its a rift
a valley
into the skin canyons of my past
making up me
and I populate it
with those I miss
and would like to see

here the snow falls gently
but its not cold
here the rain falls
and its never sad
here the leaves change color into the hues
I wish to behold
here
any fruit is always
in season
and plentiful
ripe and ready
for my extended hand

its my secret land
with many gardens
and many gently flowing streams
its a space where all can be possible
and it can change as often as I breathe
and no one feels pain

here the peace soothes and there's
music of every sort
filling in the air with joyous sound

instinctively
I know all their words
because the songs were written
with friends
all the animals I've had
and known return to me again
and dance with me

here--
clouds are for sleeping on
the earth stays warm all day
hunger and disease have been sent away

I visit this land
often
knowing
I know I can always return

every one of us has a door
which we can open and
to which we nightly yearn.


legal copyright for this poem 11/18/2020 12:45pm PST time and 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

written straight to the page...editing later....thank you






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