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 Apr 16 Whit Howland
 Apr 16 Whit Howland
White as new sliced snow,
Black as the fallen crow,
Time stills its random flow.

Deep as the lover’s swoon,
Sultry as the summer’s noon,
Tender like the bud in bloom.

As autumn falters in crimson color,
Shivering cold in pale chill fire,
Love’s flame will come to an end.

Only then will they know...
Only then will they know.
magic depends upon believing

and in the dingy hotel room
the ***** in a red dress
the poet and the pen

*** without love

manuscripts that no publisher will read

she removes her earrings
puts them on the bible
on the night stand

and he throws her down
on the ink stained mattress like
a bouquet of dead roses

he beats her

is the old woman
in the alley
covering herself with garbage
to keep warm

tenderness is the wolf and the lamb

he rips off her red dress
and he climbs up the mountain
through the ice and snow

tenderness is the wolf kissing the lamb

if we can find
between warm thighs
that lock us in
like our mother's arms
keeping us from death
if we can laugh
walking along that thin wire
where shadow and life marry
where the lions wait
in the witchwood of our dreams
where angels sing and dogs howl
if we can smile
at children playing  
and sometimes cry,
if we feel the warmth
from someone elses hand

then I say.


deep and fast
between empty eyes
that can hold
no wonder any longer,
climb up through the
ice and snow
and never be found,
and when you get to the top
of that mountain
keep climbing

magic depends upon believing


First two are fulfilled by the third
Made for you
You didn't use it

Can't get it back
Gone forever

Always there...
Is it waiting for itself?

If you find out
Let me know

I need more...
Time you really know how it was spent
Weddings and honeycombs.
Why do they give us the hives?
The keeper knows.

There's a buzz in the air.
It belongs to
the rudimentary happinesses:
The minor miracle of father's smile,
a morning breath of honey,
painting toy lips with
blood from mother's finger.

Deathless protagonists,
Mom and Dad,
our propolis.
They love us from afar.
They love us with what they are.

There's a buzz in the air.
There must bee!
They can't help loving
us little monsters,
who sting
and then say goodbye,
sting and say goodbye.

A linn begins to form
in the corner of their eye,
as wheat fields sway in the wind.

The innocent
and the beautiful
have no enemy, but time.

Tommy guns for insurance
And wads of sweaty cash
To build new empires with

But there are no guarantees
Crime, you see, doesn't pay
You can bank on it

So we already know how it ends:
They canceled his policy
And Dunaway with her
 Mar 4 Whit Howland
put yourself in my boots
is that something you can do
and look through
my view
at how things rest
and you'd ask too
is there any use?
I’m famous for procrastination;
I put things off til almost too late
And then I rush to get things done.

Well I’ve really done it this time.
The Church bake sale is tomorrow
I’ve promised them eleven cakes.

I’m famous for my Yum-yum cakes,
Rich with fruit and coconut.
They sell like hot dogs at a fair.

The ingredients are all lined up -
They only lack the blending
But my mixer just froze up and died.

So now I’m really in a mess
No time to go and get repairs
I’ll have to do it all by hand
And I will go stir-crazy.
An entry in BLT's word-of-the-day challenge. A dip into literalism.  I really am locally famous for my Yum-yum cake.
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