melissaahowells

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Broken Things Are Beautiful

Cool Pea-Green New Leaves....(Imaginarium)

Sharp Sticks For The Cinderella's

A Long Long Time Ago

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home



I Long For Stars

It No Longer Surprises Me...

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

All Beings Considered

THE HEART IS AN ORGAN ON FIRE

OFTEN I'VE WONDERED AS I LISTENED TO TRAINS

The Great Tsunami Of Our Growing Grief written 3/2.2021--retitled 3/14/2021

My Heart Knows.....(TO THOSE WHOSE HEARTS LIVE IN SPRING)

I REMEMBER THIS DAY AS IF IT HAD BEEN RECORDED IN A BOOK

Like A Small Street Dog Lured In By The Promise Of Meat

WAITING ON THE WORLD (March/February 2021 poetry)

After Wide Sargasso Sea

This Firestorm Of Dying Lights..

The Magical Closet( re-edited for clarity of metaphor)

A Man Called Tsuris

Max on the max

Odd Things, Odd Thing.....

Love A Cat

Kikipurr (For Our Boy/Girl Cats)

Don't Breathe 3/17/2021 12:21 AM PST

Great Spirit

I'm Out Of My Dreams 3/12/2021...the pain-body and dreams

The Legacy List

(MELISSA'S) ALL---TRUE---ISMS....3/3/2021 4:51 pm PACIFIC STANDARD TIME

Wisdom of the Infinite

21st Century Proverbs...more will be added, you wait and read...

Ramada

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OFTEN I'VE WONDERED AS I LISTENED TO TRAINS



^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

there they are
the little bird hops of my thoughts
eventually leading to my obsessive
compulsive brain

constantly analyzing
and processing
and finding the differences
in words and inflections
and in the singular-ness of each
distinctive sound and refrain

sorting out the ones that soothe and please me the most
my brain is the theater
of the late-late show
and I'm the host

listening for crickets
and then wondering why they've stopped
listening for rumblings of thunder
and the inevitable streak through the tops
of anvil green clouds
piling up into the night sky
and listening ever so closely
for when the late freight trains go by

where are they going
and why do they go
and who drives them
and how do they know
how to get there
why do they leave
is it fun to work in the dark
do they see anything I might not see
stumbling along in the early morning light

I'd so much rather drive a train
than hoe sugar beets in mile long rows
and have to pay for my own clothes
and to always be traveling so I don't have to worry
how to belong
train drivers must have temperaments and courage
and insights that make them not like me
strong

but mostly I'd like to know
what's at the end of that long long whistle
is it a place
is there something there
a destination for a journey
that doesn't just end
but ends up somewhere

and now I know
now that its been at least fifty or more years
or so
there is a place at the end of the long long whistle
and sooner than I think
that's where I will be heading
that's where I will go

most of me has fallen apart
and the bandages are unraveling
starting to show
will it be a nice place
will it be a place at all
will I be myself or some version
will I leave this world on the wings of a bird
and find the place at the end of the rails
I can hearing it calling now
the low low whistles
and the longing in it I hear
its coming near
its coming here.

LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 9:21PM PACIFIC STANDARD TIME 3/31/2021
DATE AND TIME STAMPED AND ALSO FOR THIS POETESS/WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS
AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED AND REGISTERED SITE TITLE
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD






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