hands
no wind

we throw
caution to

hands
be they good

or bad

is something
we will never know

There will be blood
there will be sweat
and there'll be a fountain of tears

but the picture is worth
more words
than I 'll ever give you

the missing piece
find it

and you've finished
the puzzle

whit howland © 2021

Crisp
apple cider air

October
it's finally here

leaves
and other things

at the end
of their string

with acceptance
comes dignity

honor
and most surely

peace

whit howland © 2021

She rubs the ache from
my back, as the
morning sun
breaks through the
blinds.

She gently kisses
my lips in the
long hot summer,
and brings me
piles of leaves in
the fall.

She doesn't smash my
fragile-glass ego,
nor leave me wanting
in the night.

She births me
hundreds of
children that live
forever.

And she stays young,
while I grow old.

or over ice
or crashing to shore

aged Old Spice
and a ship

wrecked
on a faraway reef


whit howland © 2021

on a cocktail napkin
in smudged felt tip

how much what
do I have to do

I dig and I dig
so deep

and if I reached China
would my efforts be

rewarded

whit howland © 2021

A wilting rose
suspended in red-tinged water
in a vase

fingers plinking
yellowed ivory keys
with reverb coming through the speakers

so much to be said but
let's not kid ourselves
nothing was ever said

and it doesn't matter anymore
no hard feelings
but that's not really true

if there's already
a hardened heart
and

a plastic smile
an off-key voice
equals

a jar full of crumpled
dollar bills

whit howland © 2021