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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

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The Petty Player Who  Rarely Sleeps


what did she give away
did it all fit into a box
teensy tiny pieces of herself
mismatched like discarded socks

what do you hold onto
what do you let in
what's the meaning to this and that
and of loving of Him

is there any meaning left at all
is it what prompts you to
search the sky
do you gaze glazed as others pass
the past a more distant blur
in the innermost portions of your mind

where did you and it all go
down with Alice
squeezing down her rabbit hole
in the mirror backwards to and fro
your image paces lost

expectations exact a cost
little self-wounds make of you
a moving target destined
to test the winds
like a weary albatross
of all you ever lost

remember little hands
remember your little feet
remember days of daydreams
remember nights of music sweet
remember who you were
when you thought you cared
remember now and how you've developed
your thousand-eyed stare

the night makes sounds
that seem to be your friends
the wind she sighs
and wants
you to listen in


the tree branches bared
scrape against the night sky
and the darkness has grown
nearer
with each year the closes in
and passes you by.



legal copyright for this poem
December 5 2023 written directly to the page
and also for this writer Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted and registered site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World

time and date stamped for copyright 6:37PM PST December 5 2023





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