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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

I Long For Stars

Wild and Unraveling

Love A Cat

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



Max on the max

THE HEART IS AN ORGAN ON FIRE

Ramada

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

All Beings Considered

A Man Called Tsuris

Great Spirit

WAITING ON THE WORLD (March/February 2021 poetry)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

A Long Long Time Ago

Sharp Sticks For The Cinderella's

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

Broken Things Are Beautiful

It No Longer Surprises Me...

OFTEN I'VE WONDERED AS I LISTENED TO TRAINS

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

MOLECULES

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

After Wide Sargasso Sea

This Firestorm Of Dying Lights..

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

Odd Things, Odd Thing.....

Kikipurr (For Our Boy/Girl Cats)

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

The Legacy List

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

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Broken Things Are Beautiful


********************

broken things are beautiful
and between the cracks
we're all often too inscrutable
I've seen the beauty of being
a-being-broken
and in the lack of what shouldn't be
so-in-between

a bird I found
alone and frightened
feathers flopping
eyes are whitening
I reached for her and
knew she was gone

four kittens in an abandoned house
their Mother lifeless
lying on a tattered couch
I fed them with a dropper
and named them so that they might live

my brother with his wounded pride
his possessions in one truck
piled to the roof inside
the smell of fear and loss

a man lying with his face on the ground
asking for his Mother and for mercy
all around the crowd's screaming
he's in trouble
he can't breathe

am I a watcher
am I a hanger-on
do I suffer as I look on
does the world suffer or does it
turn away

broken things are beautiful
when we fall between the cracks
and life's meaning seems inscrutable
we've been the broken beauty of our being
known what's right and what's never should be
in between...

there is a chance
we all might be
irrevocably lost

there's a cost
to being broken and beautiful
being beautiful shouldn't have to hurt
pulling wings off a butterfly
and knowing what it takes to make a man cry
and to close your heart
and watch him die

that's a broken-ness
that cannot be fixed
a soul needs to be released from its cage
a people from their fears and their rage

until there's mending
there'll be no relief
resetting the scales while
also admitting this is all of ours to grieve

I don't want to sweep anymore
butterfly wings from the street
and fill up God's heavens with sad angels.


legal copyright for this poem 5:45pm PST April 16th 2021
time and date stamped and also for this poet/writer
MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED AND REGISTERED
SITE TITLE: MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD

STILL, LORD WE ARE IN TIMES NEW ROMAN AND THE MENU IS BLUE...BLUE...BLUE...












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