melissaahowells

      Poet's Home             All Poetry       Sign Up!  Login
© 2000-2022 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.   530882 Poems Read.

Search for Poetry

   


Read Poetry
No Good Boys, No Bad Boys

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

More Poetry >>

 
Features

  Sign Guestbook

Read Guestbook

 
   

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





Vote for this poem