Melting
broken
twice right
cat's eyes
swishing tail
stuttering
stammering
seconds
making
solid minutes

Whit Howland © 2020

Focus on the table
the chair

and how the suns rays
warm

both pieces
not too hot but

just enough
to feel the heat on the back

of your legs
which will then draw

your gaze to the window
with its crosspatch

pattern of lines
on the glass

and now that you
know the source of the warmth

you'll feel it even more

as our feelings guide our
observations

and vice versa

Whit Howland © 2020

Ice
on the trees

like ice crystals
on a bottle  

of vintage
soda

steam rises from a cup
of hot cocoa

and the home
is always warm

when the heat
radiates

from
the heart

pistons gears
camshafts
pump rods and axles

all moving parts
for the greater good

a common cause

waves barreling
crashing the shoreline

the moon an undercurrent of energy
landslides beneath

such mystery
lurks

these fits
of cognitive dissonance

we're having

from exposure
to the snow and sun

egads

we have way too much more
to explore

about each other

whit howland © 2021

A zip code
stamp

or maybe
metered mail

post office
or going postal

all night the rain
tapped the roof

are we in
distress

should I
or should I not

send
up a flare

or
launch the buoy

We are

a silver hat,
or a silver shoe,

a still life
and one never fully realized

as we move around the board
so many times;

faces and names become
a blur.

"That was so long ago...

I barely remember yesterday"

she said.

whit howland © 2021

It's easier to tap your fingers
to the patter of rain on the roof

the intermittent claps of thunder
and flashes of lightning

I know sunshine
hurts your eyes

I get it

I go back and forth
about who I want
to be

most of the time
I try to figure that out

through observation
of people passing

so briefly in and out
of my life

over a newspaper
and coffee

Whit Howland © 2020

we run we pivot
then we run again

stopping so briefly
to sit

in the window
and peer

at the freshly minted
moon

then we take off running
wondering

if one day we'll ever
muster the courage

to stop and challenge
what seems to be

chasing us

Whit Howland © 2020

Sublime
white Orchid


like Ivory

then maybe
some purple splotches

shooting
from the *****

Quick
like quick

silver
winged feet

messenger
too fast to ****

whit howland © 2021

Blue sky
crisscrossed

with
chemtrails

the first butterfly
of the season

and a lawnmower
gasping

for that last
bit of gas

point

you ask

point is something
usually lead

and almost always
on the end of a pencil

These frosty panes

like stained glass scenes
capturing the Christmases of my youth
the taste the sounds

the tree wrapped in strings of lights
the tinsel draped like gleaming
dripping icicles

but mostly the hanging shiny red
yellow green ornaments
with their blinding glare

Whit Howland © 2020

Sun
Summer

it is here

passive voice
and lazy days
in a hammock

as it is swinging


whit howland © 2021

silver tin can
on thick

rubber wheels
frayed velvet seats

raw deal
memories

regrets
are plenty

nowhere
to go no sense

of place
or belonging

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

Find a solid
wood pole
possibly oak

and loop the rope
crossing the working end
over itself

then pass the working end
under
making a second turn

but be sure
not to cross any line
at this point

lastly
pass the working end
under the last line which crossed the pole

and
finally
tie the knot

Close my eyes
let go of fear?

I fear

if I do,

I will look up above
and see

a black anvil
hanging  by a  thread

over me.

whit howland © 2021

The bristles
on my toothbrush

are ragged
and that's a fact

as well as my chipped tooth
that sometimes slices

my tongue

whit howland © 2021

Froth
but not from
a rabid god

but one
who is heavy-lidded
on the nod

drunk on the universe
and all
that he she they

created

it could be anything
shoe

or chest of drawers
just shovel in the dirt

light loamy
so there's drainage

water generously
with a hose can or pitcher

you pick

"Buy the ticket, take the ride"

"You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them."

the plunge the leap
roots of caution

flash flood

washed down the street
the journey sans the pendant

learning and the trip
is a medal or medallion

unto itself

whit howland © 2021

A life like
mine

spent
scuttling

from point
to point

every once in awhile
a light

a respite



Whit Howland © 2020

Today
worry hangs on me
like a mill stone

yesterday
I was flooded
with guilt

which felt more
like an albatross

maybe tomorrow
I'll wear a barrel of Brandy
around my neck

trust me
I'd be okay
with rope burns

Whit Howland © 2020

We are stuck
in the middle of somewhere

just prairie grass and blue sky
with a ubiquitous buttery sun

front and center is a barn
big and red

its  hue
meant to wake you up

and much like hot coffee
it burns the soul

leaving little time comfort
or room to philosophize

what we see
has always been what we get

© Whit Howland 2019

Thunderclaps
lightning flashes

and the rain
pit pats on the roof

my fingers
snap crackle pop

and I'm distracted now
but I'll get back on track

as soon as I see
a rainbow

Some say I threw
my money away

on trips
and other frivolous things

and now they tell me
it's all in the wind

but if it's the wind
that's in my face

when I'm on the open road
what better place is there

for my money to be

Launched with flippers
like a pinball

what was I thinking
driving from east to west

was I searching
for some pie in the sky

if so
I hope it was

lemon meringue

A nondescript small
container

of rainwater
and *****

spoke
and I listened

but yet so much
depended on me

not
******* this up

Clear pool turns
white

and browns at the
edges

as the yoke starts to
harden

and butter
sizzles and pops

scattering drops
some

do somersaults
while some

fall to their demise
surreptitious

or otherwise

it's the mind's  attempt
to give shape

to a panful of
nonsense

With Spartan
sentences
and syntax

life stripped
down to only
what we need

it doesn't get
more luxuriant
than that


Whit Howland © 2020

Sturdy
cardstock
with glitter and a gauzy
image on the front

and no metaphors
to describe the feelings inside
only words

plain heartfelt words

read
and spoken
over
and over again

whit howland © 2021

Though photo real
it's really oil and acrylic

bathed
in thin sky blue

chipped
with splintered feet

it leans
against the moss-covered stone

side of a building
with an open window

and rickety shutters
that are pinned back like ears

a potted cactus rose and fern
descend its rungs

while our eyes blink and squint
until a conclusion is reached

we are somewhere
nowhere yet everywhere

© Whit Howland 2019

maybe
we found each other

or did we just
stumble onto one another

each time
the story unfolds

it's either big
small or medium length

before it folds back up
again


Whit Howland © 2020

with an ivory handle
and so sharp

you cut like a knife
through butter

your tongue

shaving off minutes
from my life

almost
two at a time

whit howland © 2021

purple
slatted

they compliment
the window

boxes
of purple flowers

along the side
of a wall with sealed cracks

weathered wisened
though still beautiful

the future can come
none too soon

© Whit Howland 2019

Brooklyn Brawler
Greased lightning
Southpaw

stick and move
beat to the punch
on the ropes

broccoli
cauliflower
tomato can

Glass Jaw
Bayonne Bleeder
Gin Blossom

leather gloves hanging
from a hobnail
on a cracked wooden door

Whit Howland © 2020

What's really left
is a so so plate
of lasagna

we can work from that
and go inward

and talk about
how this was one
of those boring

points in my and
maybe

everyone's life
where I made

a decision
that didn't necessarily
set the world

ablaze
but it was most

likely one of many
of the little ants
muling

morsels of food
for thought
that added up

to shape my

destiny


Whit Howland © 2020

With every turn
and twist

of the silver knobs
and tightening

of the nylon strings
the dream

becomes less milky
and gauzy

so the real picture
can begin to focus

What is missing is something
I can't wrap my brain around

you always say I'm not subtle
and that is true

I just wish I could be more delecate
in my communication to you

but I'm too obsessed
with how things fit back to together

like plates and cups
and I love the smell of glue

Whit Howland © 2020

but what we need
maybe just one little
thing

like a crayon
magenta
then

viola

a picture

the loaves
the fishes
to feed the soul

with seven baskets
left over

you say
you’re lonely in the Windy City

but you never return
my call

I fumble in the dark

searching

for a song that binds us

it can’t be anything
about Chicago

a town
where loneliness
hunts you down like a hawk

and

where raindrops

hit your face back and legs
like rubber bullets

Whit Howland © 2019

dry clean only

pigtails
in an inkwell

baptism
sacrament

see label for care

sing
"Shove it"

purify
ritual purification

use bleach
rinse and repeat

wasted on Saturday
Sunday we pray

flagellation

free from sin

the pulley squeaks
as we  take the clean clothes off the line

whit howland © 2021

white blossoms
                swaying in an April breeze

petals
          twirling to the ground

best of both worlds
                   fruit and flower

precious things
                    that never meet




Whit Howland © 2019

On paper its a child's
sun

it is bright yellow
there are green lollipop

trees
an expanse

of blue for water
a crude

forgery no doubt
of a classic he once saw

and was so moved

Whit Howland © 2020

Farther
much farther than we thought

beyond stretching
to limitless lengths

not just blue
or sad blue

but blue
from teal to sky

to azure to cyan
to deep cyan

farther
much farther than we thought

riding a wave
of blue

sliding up and up
the scale

past blue
way beyond heaven

past gold
straight to platinum

farther
much farther than we thought

© Whit Howland 2019

the weight

and what's riding on it's
back

the amount of money that
clatters

crinkles jingles
and changes hands

all of this

coupled with the risk
and the fear  

of one man's loss
being

the wrong man's
gain

Whit Howland © 2020

Still
a restless scene
when I toss
turn

with sleep
somewhere
dancing in the street

passions flowing
drunk
on wine

fire
crackling
burning

he curses
flailing fury

throwing food
at soldiers
over a fortress wall

© Whit Howland 2019

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

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