swirling
in a bowl
of cold milk

red yellow
blue and green
life rings

have we gone too far
pushed the envelop
taken it to the edge

sugary
crunchy
frosted

whit howland © 2020

it's ok
I read you
I get you

I feel you

your nervous
desires
anxieties

your passionate pleas

but mostly
it's your hopes
and dreams

that are laid out
so plainly in panels
of sequential art

replete
with conversation
and think bubbles up above


whit howland © 2020

Black Eye Patch
baseball cap
pink and sugary gum

conjures
the twilight
games

of stickball
kick the can
and hide and seek

and I could ask
where they all went
those days

my brothers my pals

but life
is too complicated
for that kind of lament

and also
nostalgia
good memories

are meant to simplify
wipe cleanse
and finally

stitch together
the wounded
soul

whit howland © 2020

flying
then yawing

floating
spinning

thoroughly
pickled

i woke up this morning
not knowing

where you were
or even why

you
ever existed


whit howland © 2020

for the longest time
your face rippled

like a reflection
in a wishing well

lately

I find myself at night having
conversations with the moon

in all its ubiquitous
full figured glory

the last time
I asked

you said no

I said I will never
ask again

whit howland © 2020

fire engine lips
big tongue
bulbous nose

free lunch

TANSTAAFL

surgical gloves
a steady hand to sew

through chaos
comes order

hence
the peach-colored sunset
behind a scaffold
of darkened branches

whit howland © 2020

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

Spinning
the world is
spinning

out of control
I don't I don't
know

I focus on you
and only you
your deep blue eyes

black eyelashes
your offwhite porcelain
skin

Whit Howland © 2020

One side
of your rubber face

sags

but  you're still hot
and pink

with a carrot
inching ever closer

to your bucktoothed
mouth

and the plastic valve
in your **** is open

so I could lip lock
and just blow

my cheeks puffing out
like Dizzy Gillespie

Whit Howland © 2020

sticky with ****
resting

in its dish

the shower
running full blast

with the mirror
fogged and steamy

then

the hairdryer
blowing

more hot air

yes it's true
we've been having moments

but I'd like to think
of them

as growing pains

the stuff
that shapes and molds

Whit Howland © 2020

for thought

right now crows
fall

from the gray
and brittle

branches
of trees

and litter the ground
like fallen leaves

we are what we
eat

Whit Howland © 2020

hi honey
yes i did go
to the store

rosy blush
on the cheeks
of Coca Cola Santa

but it is with deep
regret
i lost the list

blue green
red strings
of Christmas lights

the ones
with big bulbs

you so
meticulously
penned for me



whit howland © 2020

A wave cracks like a whip
in the wind

blowing

across the wheat
in a never-ending field

did I mean to come here
or was I just out wandering

and do I mean to
stay

whit howland © 2020

Steam rises
from a sweetened

deal

and a once
bitter cup of coffee

now swirling
with Dorsett cream

we (you and I)

are talking about
coffee

we swear

it's so delicious
or shall we say

delectable

whit howland © 2020

Difficult
to explain

why you
and I

clicked

strange
odd

like something
from the Sunday Funnies

whit howland © 2020

I've always known you
to figure it out

something

usually works
it's simple

as it always
has been

whit howland © 2020

Big brass
and shiny
it rang and swung

as the clapper
clanged
from side to side

as a line of doves
pointed
to the sky

and someone
was happy
someone

was very
very
happy

whit howland © 2020

You say we worked it out
dodged a bullet

the big "D"and all that
and I'm so relieved

you see
that is why right now

I'm looking at a clear sky
with just a bit

of white marbling
amongst the blue

as opposed to something
pale and gray

whit howland © 2020

a dare to set forth and prove
the moon is literally

a ball of green cheese and
not some silly metaphor

that Santa  Claus was also real
we just stopped having faith

and life

on a wire between tall buildings
and you have only

your balance
and your grace

whit howland © 2020

dare I say it
a ****** not a clang

as a breeze tiptoes
through the valley

and the tulips
yes

we've had some
rough times

but I think
they're behind us now

I've finally figured
it out

whit howland © 2020

here
but for how long

no signpost up
ahead

or rest
for the befuddled

not to mention
why

whit howland © 2020

Although it's like
herding a bunch of cats

this is your life
the first day the rest and all that

dust

dirt

and bunnies

it counts
all of it


whit howland © 2020

we ask the question of what
why where

and who are we

going round round
and round

like a revolving door
in a department store

and it's all there
we just can't get to it

four strings and a prayer
is the best we can hope for

whit howland © 2020

The soul
no not really

try windowpanes
of frosted glass

at Christmas time
looking in on ugly seaters

eggnog cheap ornaments
and things we need to return

more a sleight of hand
a distraction

whit howland © 2020

The gray sky
and minimal sunlight

coupled
with the hard earth

seems so small
in Winter

and it makes me feel
so alone

almost like I'm trapped inside
of myself

whit howland © 2020

If I had brushes and a canvas
I'd paint it

a gathering
soiree or better yet

a ticker tape
parade

a celebration
of one's life well lived

and deserving of such
reverie

whit howland © 2020

For those who know
the plate glass window

looking out over Omaha
at night

the city lights twinkling
derisively

so to speak

whit howland © 2020

It never reaches its
zenith

bleak
the sun in winter

the day only half
realized

unfinished business
with the sky a diluted blue

and shadows ever
present

whit howland © 2020

He pulls up the stoop
the doors slide shut
the wheels turn

the silver cars lurch
the last whistle blasts

too late

there's no grousing
no second-guessing
and no need for tears

whit howland © 2020

or is it a slate
to scrawl on
with chalk

to draw to
solve to flesh out
life's riddles

to put together
the ultimate puzzle
one etch/ piece at a time

to diagram
the building the
sentence the story

to complete the circle

the beauty being
even though
it is slate

nothing is ever
written in stone
for it can be erased

and the canvas
is always
blank

whit howland © 2020

Black white
gray then black
again

then beige
and we are caught
in a vortex

a loop
of one color
and of one mind

so maybe throw
in some yellow
some blue

and let it mix
into green then
dark green

then lime
and back to green
again

from chaos
always comes
order

the world sees to it
and keeps it
that way

whit howland © 2020

red
but faded

slats  cover the path or
walkway

below
the river frozen and blanketed
with powdery snow

and icy branches crack
on the spotty wooded shores

it seems so long ago
when we were last here

the water gurgled the trees
were green and the paint
was bright and fresh

I'm so sorry I didn't
know
but I should have

whit howland © 2020

Rugged
splendor

lurching
back and forth

spacious
skies

air brakes
whistle blasts

Beacon rock
Gassman Coulee Trestle

locomotive
passenger cars

Snow spotted
peaks

lakes rivers
and clear water streams

long silver
streak

what we built
you and I

was gone
in a matter of minutes

in just one night

whit howland © 2020

we fear what do not
understand

a man in the dark
leaning against a lampost

an orange glow and a curl
of smoke

rising toward the pale
and sickly light

whit howland © 2020

ridges swirls
slashes
traces smudges

they are not much
but they're what we leave
behind of us

of what we create
the things we build
and the statements we make

everything counts
as evidence

whit howland © 2020

Wet rainy frogs
hopping
on the pavement

did we do this to ourselves
do what

the heart hardened the paint
splattered the sweeping
brush strokes

in various shades
of gray

whit howland © 2020

Must you always come
in the dead of night
when I'm fast asleep

the leaves are now
off the trees leaving
the branches bare and ashen

it's a simple question
with a not so simple answer

also the sky
is black
and starless

whit howland © 2020

red
with dabs of rust

on the bottom
and at the edges

a railing in the back
that he can grab onto

wheels
and a hitch

to couple with
other cars

everything exactly
to scale

we always recreate
what we see

only smaller

whit howland © 2020

yes they're eye candy
for the mind

the big blue marble the
universe

heaven
and beyond

so much to bite off
maybe more than we can chew

lest we forget those little
details

they also matter

whit howland © 2020

like a bird track
in the snow

even though
I felt you

your footprint was light
and your voice

distant

as if spirited off
by a stiff and bitter wind

whit howland © 2020

The shaky hand
of a wall clock

as it moves us past
the hour

the ticking
of a stopwatch

as we race
against ourselves

the wind
blows through the trees

already bare
winter setting in

we blinked

whit howland © 2020

and you know every time
I call

I see the old rotary dial on our phone
by the refrigerator
spinning

I'd leave it at that

but I like how the memory
stretches

like the long snaking cord
from the kitchen to the living room
and back again

whit howland © 2020

Red balloons
greenmail
without fail you always
excite me

yellow sun
blue sky birds chirping
red peppers
you set my senses ablaze

gray day
wet and rainy
red galoshes red raincoat
you are my protection

from the storm

whit howland © 2020

You are
front and center

as pale as the moon and with
obsidian eyes

I could maybe I
should

take heed

and if death
were not so absurd

I might be scared but
as it stands

I look at you and all I see
is a cigar

and you know what they say
about cigars

whit howland © 2020

autumn leaves blanket
a sweater and slippers

I look at you over bifocals
and puff my pipe

I have arrived

a little slower in life
but I have arrived

whit howland © 2020

When it becomes a bother
to bother with a mind

worried soft as
leather

i've become resigned to you
and all your quirks

and micro tensions
it's as if I float

on a carpet of cloud
through the stratosphere

lined with thin jet
and vapor trails

whit howland © 2020

Gleaming

refrigerator white
surrounded by black

your smile says

you've separated what others
can't

the degrees and shades
of gray

in this finely woven
tapestry


whit howland © 2020

the moon a faintly
traced crescent
admidst a backdrop of blue

an upward pull
the air increasingly thinner
and clearer now

your letter your news
came as quite a shock
but i'm better

and the pain was only
momentary as was
the chaos and confusion

whit howland © 2020

Last night a co worker
told me

he had to get out

play music
create or something

and then
he'll be happy

in my dreams
my house

hangs
on a string

the foundation's
cracked and sags

fix what's now
I tell him

leave the rest for later

whit howland © 2020

Oh the leaps our
mind makes from
one lilypad

to another
hip-hopping
across a pond

with water
black
as night

whit howland © 2020