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Little Man Orange--My Mister Peanut Butter Trout

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

THE STITCH IN THE TELEPHONE WIRES

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

The Differences



If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

Wisdom of the Infinite

Not Someone's Grand Illusion

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

After Wide Sargasso Sea

Great Big Waterproof World

The Storm

I Turn Forward

Patch-Worked Trilogy

And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

Great Spirit

Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Dragons

HOW

EVENTUALLY...

THERE WILL BE MORE ...

At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

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A View From My Window  At Age 8

I'm looking for a patch of blue,
The sweetest hue, a  single patch of blue.
Up in a quilt among the clouded skies,
My truth lies, in a single patch of blue.
There I can contemplate a rarer place,
With no unkindly face,
One to match my insides to my eyes.
This child must look above,
For this kind of love,
Its a realer landscape than the one I'm in.
I'm looking for some bluer dawns,
Than those that have gone;
I'd wrap my arms around a storm if it were blue within.
I'm looking for some fairer blues,
Some rarer blues;
I want to rope a technicolor dream.
I want some blue harbor nights,
With only stars as my arbor's lights;
I want to know what this could mean.


Meloo/Melissa A. Howells Copyright 2003





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A View From My Window At Age 8


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