meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

Where The Weird Actually Tried To Turn Pro

Accountants

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

I Long For Stars



Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

I Write This To Remember

Errands (WHAT ARE YOUR UNOFFICIALLY APPOINTED ERRANDS?)

And I Smile ( Little Little Bird)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Dragons

the earth is our mother

All Beings Considered

This Snake

All Of Who I Was

Where The Dead Don't Mind...

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Peace Where There Is No Opportunity

What Could a Death Meet-Up Have To Offer?

Someone Send Out A Search Party

I Wish God Had Better Magic

Canis Latrans

What's With The Lead Overshoes?

How Does It, How Do You Matter

THE POCKET DOOR

Like The Wind In The Middle Of The Night

The Hoping

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Cuba Libre


Thick Spanish coffee, rich Cafe Caribe
Drinking in the wiles,the old promises and
smiles of Cuba. Sunbleached and decaying
wraith-like style. Death seems invited in for
awhile into the corners of this sad cafe.
The men wear bone-white suits,
the women,gaily-colored dresses making a dull parade.
Familiar strains,La Bella Musica
from brighter times echoes in the sandy streets,
wishing Fidel had never stayed. Wishing
Fidel had gone to his grave. Even Castro's daughter
cries and remembers Cuba when she could be brazen,
be unwise. Before the ash heap of regiments and
revolution. Before there were plots of a military solution.
When the nights were full of wild song and
stained with dark rum,
and passions rose and set with the blistering sun.



Meloo/Melissa A. Howells Legal Copyright September 2004
for this poem/work for this site title, by this author
Melissa Ann Howells/meloo straight from her
Tilt-a-World...legal copyright site title.
One of my favorites.





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