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

This Is What Mermaids Dream Of

Words Between Edward And Jane

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

I'd Like To Be Your Shirt (when you wake up in the morning)



When Mr. Bemish Lost His Last Good Pair of Glasses

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

THE COOL TILES BENEATH MY FEET REMIND ME

CHRONICLER OF DREAMS

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

Certainly No Bread 3/16/2022

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

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

THE HEART IS AN ORGAN ON FIRE

A Girl Always Leaning Forward Looking for A Breeze

Entanglements

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

Appetites

How I Still Love You

Miss Tilt-a-World@

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

ANOTHER REFRIGERATOR POEM 7/2/2022

What Is The Price For Your Touch

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Certainly No Bread  3/16/2022


now UN-SEE THIS:

ten people standing in line waiting for bread--
obliterated

this is not a poem
this is oblivion
a nightmare
Hieronymus Bosch

here one moment
and what?
gone the next
inconceivable?...
but YOU MUST conceive of it

marinate on THE BLOOD
until the reality seeps into your psyche
can you do it?

is there enough empathy left in your pinkie
in your pre-frontal cortex
in your reptilian brain
in your worst imagining
to wrap your NEEDFUL concentrated thought around IT?

I see
ten mushroom clouds EXPANDING
I see
spontaneous combustion AND TEN INDIVIDUAL POOFS
I see
ten memorials and malingering remembrances
AND AN ENDLESS CLOTHESLINE OF DAMP HAN-KERCHIEFS

I see Pale Grief in her flesh-tone gown
and Death with his scythe
cutting down the chafe and the wheat
no harvest for this year
not for ten
who were simply hungry....

and no bread
CERTAINLY no bread
for those who ONCE hailed from
the Bread Basket Of The World
and whose bodies hailed all over
the broken coffins of ground.

Are you quiet now?
Do you have any words or images left?

(whispering: Where and what is peace?)



LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE
AND ALSO FOR THIS WRITER/POET MELISSA A. HOWELLS
AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPY-WRITTEN AND REGISTERED SITE TITLE:
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD





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