filled
to the brim

with the tea I never
drank

you are like
found art and also

like all the other animals
once

in my life
that have now passed

finally

I'm finding
time to have a conversation

with you

and them

there's a little voice
or a bee

buzzing

inside my
head

saying
we have things we need to talk about

Whit Howland © 2020

he wasn't in the right headspace
he wasn't in the wonted circumstance

it happened neither occasionally, but on numerous occasions

however, his surrounding be approaching and expecting his so-called tough shoulders..

..to be cried on, to be leaned on or to be the place they can dwell in for some considerable time.

his heart was made of gold, but it felt like a block of ice.

nodded his head; means acceptance.
tossed a yes; means a welcome.
painted a genuine smile; means he's all about to listen.

he was there for people, and he will always be there.

but where are the people pace their footsteps out while 911 numbers were pressed on his life's phone button?

nought. zero calls back. all dead. stone deaf.

that's how we live in, being a living buttress to people as in fact people won't ever spend their seconds to be your place to go.

aside from the bitter truth,

survive.

You hold lies in your hands, like aces

they grow like Chrysanthemums

a word that you learnt to spell, at school

scarred on your memory like a bad trip  

pass me a card,

and I will feed and water it

tend to it daily

in hopes that it may just bloom

into something beautiful

~
Moonlit angels keep turning the wheels of the universe

In conversations with God, they placed the Sun precisely in the centre

Alarum and escapement keep the gear train moving forth:

Astronomical clock, armillary sphere, lunar phases in sidereal time

All patterns of evidence -- releasing our impulses, advancing our hands
~

Anyway winds bow
To the ocean mists anyway
Voices silenced through
Eternities shout
Anyway meek inherit sunrises
Or sick all become well
Anyway the wind blows
Is all about life
You know
Anyway its all been said done
Before
No man bound in gravity can in
Anyway become godful
Anyway just a thought
A brief roundabout
A trip
Yes

In the midst of the tinsel scrum
with most calendar doors feathered open
sometimes a melancholy still calls.
The fevered peaks of nativity plays
or the constant electric anticipation
of just what is in that box
can give way to a sudden sigh
in Christmas blue.

Flowers on winter wood, don't mind the dark and brave the stinging cold

they flourish as the frost takes hold

winter flowers know full well the joy they bring

is twice as much as blossoms born in spring

You’ve been
following me out to sea
hoping to find paradise
on my voyage
but I am nothing
but shipwreck and storm;
a tsunami leaving nothing but
chaos in its wake.