Poet's Home             All Poetry       Sign Up!  Login
© 2000-2022 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.   488167 Poems Read.

Search for Poetry


Read Poetry
I Am A Creature Of The Night. 5/31/2023 WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE FOR FUN

All Beings Considered

Love Wants What Love Wants re-edited 5/31/023

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

Words Between Edward And Jane

After Wide Sargasso Sea ( For Those of You Readers Who Have Empathy For the First Mrs. Rochester.)

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

Winter's Been Too Long.... 4/18/2023 (LONGING)

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

This Is What Mermaids Dream Of

And You Will Be Called Ashes As You Leave ( from a dream)

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

WAITING ON THE WORLD (March/February 2021 poetry)

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak


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 Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)


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 Way Of The Crow


Certainly No Bread 3/16/2022

More Poetry >>


  Sign Guestbook

Read Guestbook


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

this is a multi-layered
multi-dimensional place
this is a house no longer my house
someone else has moved in
these are my memories
not my memories
someone else is making memories here

they say when someone dies
that the soul sticks around
and lives in the dimension which was once familiar to it
for eleven entire months

did my Mother return here
do the people who live here now see her
wandering the hall at night
or working in the garden near dawn

I don't know where people go
when they die
we are told certain things
there are no facts or certainties
I have not yet gone to that place beyond
I visited once--
what you call a near death experience
and came back
I think I was relieved
but I'm not quite sure I really was....

While I was dead:
I dreamed a dream that wasn't a dream
of where I used to live
and that house was drowning in flames
and being sucked down into the afterlife below
in that place that  Dante might have called
The Inferno or Purgatorio

why was I dreaming of Inferno's and purgatory
while I was supposedly dead--
who knows,
maybe the Great Spirit does?
I haven't asked yet...

but now...
this house (of my dreams) is no longer my house
and the memories float around me like dust
trying to settle over and into me
I thought
I escaped this dust as soon as I was able to
by leaving as quickly as I could

but yesterday when I was thinking too hard
I think I found a small dust-mote of it
an old fading memory
settling on top of my curly head
like a thought I wanted to avoid
but didn't have the good sense to duck away from...

I want to know now:
Mother do you think of me...
am I contained within your archaeological memories
do your memories exist like some ghosts still wandering about...
like floating dust circling the earth waiting to land

I CONTINUE to dream of you and of our old house
on tenth street

do you require more than the usual time of
eleven months
the allotable time that is said that the soul lingers around
to take an overall accounting of things before it moves on--
you must have accounted several times over now

today a man from another country told me
I am my own worst problem
as I think way too much\
people do pass around advice like
dust motes settling at times...

I can choose to either clear it away
or accept it will come with
the territory called life

my thoughts stay too long and settle
where they ought not stay
and are also like dust
settling too long in one place

maybe I am made of different stuff
maybe all the dust motes of memory
have gathered in my head
even those memories which are not my own
and I have, overtime, become collective memory

for now
I shall put you Mother
and our old house that was sinking into the ground
into the dark envelope of another night
it is daylight
plenty enough time theRe is for me
to be haunted one more night.


legal copyright for this poem 8/24/2022 8pm PST
time and date stamped and also for this author/writer Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted and registered site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World,

Vote for this poem