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The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

I Long For Stars

All Beings Considered

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years



All Too Clearly Now

Informed Through Pain

Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

A Man Of The Clouds

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past

Accountants

Shrine

Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Cuba Libre

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself

TONIGHT

I WILL RETURN

Silver-Tongued Devil

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?)

More Poetry >>

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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