Melting
as if dripping

off the table
silver beads rolling

across the floor
where

where have you been
all of my life

the Elks Club Toledo
Ohio

is this anything
if it is

it's all in the delivery
and timing

time they say time flies
flies

when you are having
fun

but you seem to have gone
by bus

whit howland © 2021

twice a day
and I'm such a broken man

unwind
rewind

set back
turn back

be a dad
what a joke

pull my finger
my string

yank
my chain

whit howland © 2021

Total
absence of light

roiling
boiling

churning black clouds
your wicked flowers

being watered with biting
drops of rain

This is as much about me
as it is you

our erratic rhythms
giving original meaning

to a Harlequin Romance
as we both run

like hamsters on a wheel
or better

around like rats in a crazy box
trying to navigate life

whit howland © 2021

Delicate
and powdery
across your surface

special
precious
timely

flower you are
cultivated
for your beauty

pure
good
divine

what we produce
is better late
than never

whit howland © 2021

The glass of my mask
is clear though foggy

at the edges

as I often dream
of turquoise waters

where I splash dive
and roll with

zany  shelled creatures
paddling by my nose

as white sand between my toes
floats up to the surface

it's hard to know where life
is going

I am told there's a plan
and a God who executes it

and with a vision like this
could it be

he's telling me to trust
what I see when I'm fast asleep

and that the plan is something
not to overthink

it's possible

whit howland © 2021

Failures
mine or those that I own

your assignment
lean

lean into the storm
roll

roll with the waves
the punches

and let the metaphors run
like blood and tears

down your cheek

and mix like paint
and mix like paint

A slash of red
on white canvas

aggression maybe
war

might is right
so clear

and pure

lots of kicking and screaming
but

I know that now

whit howland © 2021

Packed in bunches
resting in a pewter bowl

a still life

yet ripe juicy
and rich

to blossom

produce flowers mass flowers
whites reds

and violets

whit howland © 2021

What I might buy
for a dollar or a dime

some cheap petameter
or a bad rhyme

about

love passion
or betrayal

something
like that

maybe more lurid
and purple

on days like these
all we can muster

is a piece or a scrap
of morale in a glass

served with a joke
corny or crass

or even worse
a  bad pun

inner space
between the ears

wind blowing
through a screen door

maybe chimes
in the distance



whit howland © 2021

sprinkled with the petals
of roses

much like ours that have crossed
throughout the span of time

the paths are dirt
where they diverge

with some flourish here and there
but mostly hardscrabble

making travel bumpy
and rough

shallow
not deep
simple
not complicated

there was fog
this morning
but it's burned off

so it seems

A child's garden
of simple verse

tone rhythm
cadence

so magic but
slowly

moving
into shorter days

longer
nights

whit howland © 2021

The sun shines so early
this morning

but your face reads cloudy
with a chance of smiting rain

what do we do where
do we go from here

I've taken this journey
with you before

almost
to the point of no return

whit howland © 2021

To my ears go
your cute little snores

and to my eyes
your hair peeking out

from under the covers
I watch our cats(our kids)

eat from their labeled dishes
and I laugh

for hours

whit howland © 2021

This morning
outside my window

a hummingbird

****** nectar into its beak
as if through a straw
from the feeder hanging from
the edge of my house

Peter Frampton
sings "I'm in You"
coming from the tinny speaker
of an old phonograph on an oak desk in my den

these are not my clothes
hanging in my closet
that smells of cedar bark
they are not my size and they are not

my style

whit howland © 2021

what once was brown
with hairs and crawled on the ground

became

not before our very eyes
but

when we were not looking
a kaleidoscopic

butterfly

things don't change
they just evolve into

what they already
were becoming

whit howland © 2021

Flowers
the purple ones
impatients

they didn't make it
the rain and all the watering
couldn't save them

this summer you
went away then returned
and I thought you were back

but then you left again

the flowers
the purple ones
impatients

all the rain
and all the watering
couldn't save them

whit howland © 2021

We stand
under a blood orange sunset

to watch day after day
fade into night

I've been a lot of things to you
I never meant to be

so if you just settled on me
all those years ago

that's okay

A handwritten letter a licked
stamp

old fashioned
yes

but not outdated
yet post-dated

with the red metal flag
pointing

to the sky and burning
like an Olympic torch

in anticipation
of your triumphal

return

whit howland © 2021

A shiny ribbon
some glitter

paper folded
precisely

edges taped
concealment

mystery
suspense

the best gift
you ever gave us

was and always will be
each other

whit howland © 2021

a small thin piece
of fur

maybe bunched
but just enough

to say
you were there

stayed awhile
and then slinked

off into the day
the wind

jingling
your tiny bells

an almost inaudible
announcement

of your
departure

whit howland © 2021

Sun's rays
pierce

the bronchial
latticework

of the bare trees
in late Fall

leaving me with
windless and limp sails

whit howland © 2021

Morning
sunshine

and clear eyes to see clearly
to pick up

the twigs
and branches

off the front lawn
of my neighbor's yard

whit howland © 2021

Bundle
of newsprint

in the driveway
on Sunday

thunder
up and chunder

whirlwind
funnel cloud

life and pages
now torn

asunder

whit howland © 2021

Jazz Hands
and I don't know why

my life at twenty-nine
already was a ball of rubber bands

some wisdom and words
to live by

don't challenge the Grim Reaper
to a pillow fight

unless you are prepared
for reaper cushions

outside there are clouds
the sky is steel gray

there's a threat
albeit an existential one

of rain
but the parade goes on

whit howland © 2021

It starts with a dark and stormy
night

then you are everywhere
but nowhere

bus depot
airport train station

I suspect you are alone
I could be wrong but I know I'm not

if you can hear me
riddle me this

what do you call
an exploding monkey

a baboom

you are everywhere out there
somewhere

and I will keep sending up
flares

whit howland © 2021

Purple streaks across
sky no white
canvas

flowers
smudged against blue
and brown

bronze blobs descending
down the wall on a chain
supposed to be a rope

they say madness
is never expressed
with wide eyes and crazy laughter

but always with a constantly
flushing toilet
and endless sobs

coming from the room
next door
to the rhythm of bad bed springs

whit howland © 2021

The damage is done
my love

and I understand that your forgiveness
won't be forthcoming

and all I can say to explain
is this

what I did I did under
duress

and it may be hard to comprehend
that I only meant to protect you

it is a concept I fear will be forever
lost at sea


whit howland © 2021

pleasure
is my measure

stepping foot by foot
loose change falling

from my pockets
like manna

that dropped from the sky
so so long ago

whit howland © 2021

Pallet of green
brown
gray

obstructed
destruct
construct

strange things
kaleidoscopically
arranged

natural
literal
and metaphysical

The stove was hot

I saw the burner
and its fiery glow

no need to touch
but I did anyway

is it caution
we are throwing to the wind

when we trust
with no proof of wounds

or scars

whit howland © 2021

Flashy
gold
and the taste of glue

Star of Wonder
Star of David
Morning Star

my life shoots across the night sky
before my very eyes
in a fit

of blurry futurism
but that star
stuck to my forehead

may it always remain
a constant and a symbol
of the best I ever was

whit howland © 2021

Gray
with a film of fog

I knew you once
but now

you are just a pair
of ruby red lips

on a cocktail napkin
in a trunk in my

attic

whit howland © 2021

The temperature is rising
you give me fever

while bringing on thunder
flashes of lightning and rain

I credit that **** Dog Star
again

as well as a mad string
of bad luck

whit howland © 2021

The cool aquamarine water
ripples

as it kisses the skin
and we move like fish

fumbling

in self-induced darkness
to the cadence

Marco
Polo

accidents
collisions

as well as serendipitous
discovery

whit howland © 2021

The soft motor of the mop
purs

as it squirts more detergent
on the vinyl floor

after an up-down motion
across the surface

it's all over but the drying
and onto

vacuuming bathrooms
laundry and other tasks

that seem eternal much like
fungus

drudgery mundane chores
the stuff we do


to stay ahead of the storm clouds
torrential rains and smiting winds

I am really cleaning

whit howland © 2021

gray streaks
mixed with rusty brown

on a stretched canvas
tacked on a plaster wall

cash
on the barrel

and it's yours

at odds
the agreement

you got me for cheap
the dotted line

where I signed
I must have been sleeping

whit howland © 2021

black
as an asphalt nightmare

splashes of gray
vomits of rust

and fast cars
up and down the street

with fits of passion
make it all a blur

the world turns on it's
not your axis

and life swings to and fro
at its own tempo

protestations
notwithstanding

whit howland © 2021

Rhythmic
consistent

water babbling
over rocks

steady

clear blue
aqua or turqouise

white sand
below

uncluttered

clarity
transparency

coherent
and pure

whit howland © 2021

the plastic lens
already scratched
popped from the frame

though in their day
this copper-colored pair of specs
was a marvelous eyepiece

but time
erodes even the finest
of instruments

and events
abrupt or otherwise
change things

and speed up
what was already
taking place

and whether we like it or not
what we love
and who we love

will always succumb
to the slow or sometimes
rapid current of progress

whit howland © 2021

Morning
began with a birdsong

nothing fancy
some rhythmic chirping

but it sufficed
and gave me the impetus to float

not slog
through the day

we are what we choose
to eat and digest

whether it be aural
or through mastication

whit howland © 2021

Fine art you are encased
in glass

on a rack
with other bottles

of dark red plasma-like
liquid

or maybe in a store
in a box

cheap

like a painting on a stand
at a sidewalk art fair

in either case
celebrate

we must

life
at any price

whit howland © 2021

As if rubbed with
charcoal

tire black rope white
and slung over a branch

ashen pale
against the gray trunk

a summer
my summer
your summer

colored
in gothic tones

much like a rubbing
from a  gravestone

in an old church
cemetery

whit howland © 2021

a swath of blue a few
ripples

here
and there

that lap what might be
sand

a slash of yellow
sun

you are here

but right now


I am there
my mind molding

fashioning
the perfect day

at the beach

and possibly
the perfect life

for us

whit howland © 2021

broken
reassembled

cubes squares
triangles

light refracted

I've studied it
from many angles

and my mind
always winds back

to the same truth

Blue

why is it blue
is it because I miss you

and that the house is empty
when it's just me

or is it the bad weather
emotional or otherwise

or the losing battle I fight
with the lawn and the cleaning

it seems so much of life
is being

swallowed up
in a quotidian funnel cloud

whit howland © 2021

Maybe it's me
and my slothful ways

but something
and I mean something

has riled them
as they vault

somersault
and skitter in and out

of my bedroom
my cats

I feel their frustration
at my failure to launch

into this hot hazy Saturday
all my Friday weekend plans

rapidly evaporating
as if

on the freshly tarred sidewalk
outside my window

whit howland © 2021

no sticker or emoji
is that intense
and could not express

the feeling

the "it"

that I feel
and it's nothing
I can explain

a wave swelling
inside is the closest
I will ever come

to showing
the abundance the flood
of love

the horn of plenty
the blessing I receive
from you every day

whit howland © 2021