a field of pink
and magenta
flowers

with a path cutting
quietly through
the middle

at the end
a house

and more
pink flowers

so that's that and
it is what it is

what you see
is what you get

and I guess
I’ll have to settle
for honest and sincere
brushstrokes

if I can’t have
haystacks

and a quaint
cottage

if not lily pads

just a place
from where to hang
my hat

and care only about
the times I pulled
the chain

and the light bulb
shined

in all its naked
beauty

Whit Howland © 2020

Outside

a wrecking ball swings
to and fro

pretty soon
the building
will be nothing but rubble

you're not as subtle as you think
you are

in fact
you wear your thoughts
and feelings

like an ill fitting suit

Whit Howland © 2020

It must be my reward
for getting older

memories no longer burn
like an angry sun
or bite

like a bitter lime

instead
they cascade

through the body
massaging every muscle
so now

when I hear the clack
clack clack
of a typewriter

it's no longer a jack hammer
trying to crack  
my tortoise shell

but a player piano
with spirited
ghostly keys



Whit Howland © 2020

Faces
sharp and angry

a set of expressionist
prints

that hung on our kitchen
wall

though not the warmest
pieces of décor

they embodied
an ugly beauty

something

only you and I
could see

share
and love

Whit Howland © 2020

Mostly

I'm about  the simple
image

or idiom

like two slices
of split top bread
with

butter spread
across each face

taking care I don't
skimp or
cut corners

not too thick

but never
never

too thin

Whit Howland © 2020

There's only one
    photographer
I know who could
    capture
what they're saying

her use of light and
         perspective
would spell it out

in cartoon think
         bubbles

are we done
        growing
is this all there is

not a lot of tears
to be had

but more than a
       fair share of salt

Whit Howland © 2020