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In The Sanctuary Of My Head

The Broken-Winged Birds and People (re-edited 4/5/2323 3:03PM PST) (re-edited 11:14am PST 2/23/2023)

The Hell Of Winter (re-edited 4:27pm PST 3/9/2023)

My Grey Haired Love...La La Lullaby , La La Lullaby My Love

THE HEART IS AN ORGAN ON FIRE



When Mr. Bemish Lost His Last Good Pair of Glasses

Kathy Brown Kathy Brown

Something Not Quite Right About Here (Vortex) re-edited 1/26/2023

THE COOL TILES BENEATH MY FEET REMIND ME

The Way Of The Crow

DO YOU TURN THE LIGHTS SO YOU CAN SLEEP?

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

CHRONICLER OF DREAMS

YET ANOTHER ANTI-POETRY POEM ( re-edited 11/2/2022)

You Do As You Please 8/17/2005 found poem, readjusted 6/20/22

HERE WE SIT AT OUR TABLE 2/19/2022

Much Better Than This ( A Conversation With The Universe)

The Straight Story (What Happens When The Writer Inserts You Into Her Story)

THE TIDE CALLED LONELINESS

A Girl Always Leaning Forward Looking for A Breeze

Entanglements

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

Appetites

How I Still Love You

The Smile Which Eludes @

He Says To Me, I Think Too Much (and hence dream too much as well)

When You Learn Who You Really Are And What Is...

Anti-Poem Number Three 8/2/2022 Or, A Poem Your Proper Mother Wouldn't Write

Breathing On My Own

A Girl Is More Than a Beautiful Box re-edited 10:15pm PST 1/31/22

I LOVE YOU ALWAYS ANYWAY AND INSTEAD

Talk To Me In The Dark 7/8/2022

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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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