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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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This Firestorm Of Dying Lights..


I've been told I'm sensitive
there's nothing wrong with that

maybe I lose more sleep than others do
maybe I think too much
maybe I see more than eyes should see

I have a kind of second sight
and feel within my bones and skin
my emotions communicate across the prairies
of my face
I have lines I've earned
though I've a younger face

I cannot be
but who I am
I see in my own way

I'm no mute witness
to this current world-wide
tragedy
death doesn't make strangers
into statistics
I view this differently

I see Death as electricity sparking
a light bursting and then a small
flurry like waning Roman Candle Light
each time someone, some being leaves
unplanned
they create sky-tapestries

shouldn't we all make a dramatic brief show
a final sign that we were here
we're all called to go
yet
I don't quite understand
where the Ferryman takes us all
and why there's so much room....

I know when
Death takes ,
He leaves others behind--
we're the little candle flames
the Greatest Darkness cannot yet vanquish
nor yet put out

I believe that everything has
its source of  light
and each of us fights
to maintain to the last breath...

each tree, each blade of grass,
each animal, each molecule
each person
singularly bleeds
a spark of embers
when it leaves

and its flame burns out
and the world turns in on itself
and then reluctantly shudders
as it turns yet another page


what must the earth feel now
being this eternal cataclysm of change?
 
this flickering of fireworks
isn't numbers nor  calculations
nor headline statistics
on the evening news....

the numbers
link to other breathing numbers
the hundreds-thousand- millions
uncounted
left behind on the Earthly plain

aren't you wondering,
I'm wondering
about this firestorm of dying lights

tall of hose who we made final calls out
but could not say our good-byes...
as we held on to them tightly
within our grieving hearts
but not within our enfolding arms




LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE
2/22/2021 11:41 AM PACIFIC STANDARD TIME/DATE-TIME STAMPED
AND ALSO FOR THIS POET MELISSA A. HOWELLS
AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED REGISTERED SITE TITLE
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD.








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