Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Whit Howland Feb 7
Just some red

and smeared
on canvas

nothing about this

is easy
but then again


always imitate

Abstract Imagisim.
Whit Howland Feb 3
white Orchid

like Ivory

then maybe
some purple splotches

from the *****
An imagistic Jazz word painting
Whit Howland Jan 21
It's those long days

with you
that play out

like a 24 hour

on the saxophone
and summon all the cliches

"where have you been
all my life"

is the first one
coming to mind
Whit Howland Jan 21

double back

then midtown

green light

followed by notes


from a clarinet
or a saxophone

with steam
coming from a sewer grate



but the pavement
is still satiny and smooth
An impressionistic Jazz piece
Whit Howland Jan 20
It's a deep cough
a wet

or is it a dry
whooping cough

it's more of a hack

so much tissue
oh so little time

life is such
a struggle

would we have it

other way
A word painting with straight straightforward message.
I. Fog Glossaries
'Echoes don't tell lies,'
but inclement weather so often does.
between whales and feverish thought,
between their sparkle and debris,
what is brewing systematically,
right under the surface,
might be terrifying.
or it might not.

II. The Cruxifiers
Time and life are machines that manufacture doom,
their sparkle and debris calculatingly withheld,
like keyholes to dark rooms that they
—in their reserved attack—never let you into.

III. Oceano Dunes
Bedouin princess—Charis Wilson tumbling
with Edward in the sand
—a photo finish.
—a young woman's triumph.
—a naked gift wrapped in sparkle and debris.

IV. Jellyfish Are Murderers
Here's a hint,
needle mark refineries are back,
expanding and contracting
in Baltic Sea,
in sparkle and debris,
smack after smack,
umbrella bell stings send
another pearl necklace
of dreams to its grave.

V. Container Ships
Substance A covers the outside hull,
Substance B is leaking from everyone's ears,
still the captain smiles, sailing straight ahead, ignoring the crew
as they turn into sparkle and debris.

VI. Mouth Guards of the Apocalypse
No one on the submarine is listening,
scopes up, spirits down,
current position unknown,
longer commutes, shorter lives
recede the fear of sparkle and debris,
by hiding out in the guest rooms,
waiting for a messiah drink
or perhaps a palindrome:
'never odd or even
no lemon, no melon.'
It's all so sour to the teeth and gums
of Armageddon's kids...

VII. Womenfish
Lost girls drive rental cars, change identities at rest stops. They shuffle down an otherwise sunny street beneath their own personal raincloud, shivering in an oversized coat. They imagine they're a parable stretched over the sea and not just mere sparkle and debris.

VIII. A Mother’s Book of Hours
At home and in her head
the roots get tangled,
so she storyboards each morning.
the lathe of heaven
must be Morse code
for death of romance.
she hears silent music
as her children sleep,
as whales sing off the coast,
they share their blood,
they share sparkle and debris.
there's a sweet little lie
baking in the oven,
she doesn’t want to talk about it.
she wishes her dreams were longer
and catches an interested eye
at the dream window,
her hands surrendering
their attempt to conceal,
naked is her perfect disguise,
you can hear her repeatedly asking,
“Who have I lived for?”

IX. The Pavilion of Dreams
How often I dream water,
some are lakes and seas,
others Olympic-sized pools,
each a self-portrait,
holding fast to the resurrections unseen,
to the digitally etiolated detail of the comedown,
every chimera ending
with my mind floating
just beneath the surface with all
the other sparkle and debris.
'Echoes Don't Tell Lies' is a borrowed line from the title of Neville Pettitt's new book of poetry.
Whit Howland Jan 13
on the trees

like ice crystals
on a bottle  

of vintage

steam rises from a cup
of hot cocoa

and the home
is always warm

when the heat

the heart
An impressionistic word painting.
Next page