Crazy

it's not google eyes
or maniacal laughter
nor is it someone who can't stop

the waterworks
of cascading tears
it's a deep sigh

and maybe one
of relief
replete with Mozart

playing in your head
on a scratchy phonograph
as your house goes up in flames

Whit Howland © 2020

against an orange marbled
backdrop

amber glow now
fading

it served us well

once solid and cutting
the inky

ether from which we might've
plucked


Whit Howland © 2020

picture a poem
about an obsession

with pictures
of ordinary things

or distant memories
of trips you've taken

to places you've never
been

as you searched for the voice
to put words to a phrase

a sentence and then to a poem
and you can hear it now

whoo whooing whooing
and the chugging

and you can almost feel the blast
of steam

the journey has begun
but it's hard to know

if it ever really ended

Whit Howland © 2020

Brass bell
         musical notes
a big nose

hanging
          on a wall
in a hotel room
               over a desk

with a lamp
and
          nondescript
shade

and we are
             far from home
looking out
            a plate glass window

laughing at some
                   joke
inside
          our head
                    
                 or
standing
                      aghast
at nothingness

Whit Howland © 2020

I so wanted to be you
wanting

the rotting wagon tongue the
lunar dust

I wanted your west
your dying towns

the salmon that swam
upstream

and the girl that giggled and scissor kicked
in your drink

because

I'm a poet and what might
have depressed others

was lush and fertile landscape
to me

but when I traveled your America
I saw saw it

through much cheaper sun glasses
the kind

you might buy at a truck stop
or someplace

like Wall Drug
or an Indian smoke shop

with a neon war bonnet
and that

made all the difference

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

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

Blows notes
and simple chords

little gold
plastic

to be exact

jump in


the water's nice
no

the water's cold


Cold or nice
you take your pick

Goggles
a lambskin helmet

scarf
and a wand

to leave a chemtrail of bubbles
as I go

I don't need much more
than that

because this life
has always been piloted

by the seat of my pants
with no real plan

except for
an occasional barnstorming

here and there

Ice blue
and savage

in a shatterproof
bottle

and I think

so much has passed
from our lives

and so much was freely

and so easily

surrendered

Whit Howland © 2020

Why is the sky blue
I wish

I had an answer to that as well
as other questions

vexing you
but it's the seemingly

simple things with us
those innocent queries

such as

are piano keys really
ivory

and why are you so late
tonight

that has always tripped
me up

whit howland © 2020

Black dots
they blot out the sun

almost
a Rorschach pattern

you call
I answer

we speak
in tongues

our cacophony

music
and a blessing

to someone's ears

whit howland © 2020

What I am to you
we are to each other

you are
a Monarch butterfly
being chased

by a barking dog
in a meadow in
late August

I am

that dog

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

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

Through the window
I heard

a bluebird chirp

no

it didn't sing

it chirped

Whit Howland © 2020

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

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

here
but for how long

no signpost up
ahead

or rest
for the befuddled

not to mention
why

whit howland © 2020

you

me

old yellowed
stressed fractured
along the base

when did it come
to this

how did it come
to this

pipes clank
smell

drip drip
drip

so much promise so
little time

I wish I had known you
better

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

it's what we expect them
to say

or paint

vertical slashes
swirls and dabs of gray

with such windswept
and abstract beauty

but nobody
and i mean nobody

ever anticipates the flush
of sun

in the right-hand
corner

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

Let me do nothing to
disrupt the flow

a truck is stuck

the tires spin
throwing up mud

the deeper down
it goes

we are now
mired in the image


Whit Howland © 2020

it's got nothing to do
with nothing

a tuft
of fur on a chain

swinging from a ring of keys
in the ignition

that's right

nothing


whit howland © 2020

dingy *****
is their world

real or fictitious
as they watch

and cheer
these battling Maxos

built
like Roman Statues

duke it out

their faces being
opened

like tomato cans

Whit Howland © 2020

The sun is up
with a splash of orange

they say
if you live long enough

you get to see yourself
young again

at least that's what they say
and I've been here all day and night

it almost feels like
a lifetime

and I saw a lot of things
like the sky go from blue to dusk

only to have it gush with morning
and bleed out again


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

A meditation about
a color

and substance
we often think of as black

but very rarely
red or electric blue

I was drawn
to you

because you were as
no other

I mean I had never seen anyone
or anything

like you

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

That ever elusive
clear blue

water we chased
was actually

cloudy from rain and
agitation

goodbye friend
I feel I hardly knew
you

there's so much
to be said

but

no time
and not enough
language

to express
the proper sentiments

of such parting sorrow

Whit Howland © 2020

Is it our eye
or

is the blue sky
much

bluer
through cheap

motel glass we
always

paint
the most beautiful pictures

of the things we never get
to have

and that I believe
is just another example

of how truly
beautiful

the mind really
is

Whit Howland © 2020

we are stuck
in the mud

that's practically
cement

filling
our shoes

making them
heavy

as a steady
down pour

pelts our
faces



Whit Howland © 2020

You paint our love with
somber but noisy tones

rubbing charcoal
and flakes of ash on the canvas

what is it

I'm scratching my head
a warning

a cautionary tale
because all I see is gray

windswept beauty and I want
more

so give it to me

Whit Howland © 2020

It's all a matter of what
trumps what

your questions about me
and why I'm here

versus my thoughts about
the concrete stumps of

what it once was
and from there

none of this is what you think

I'm not longing for a lost road trip
down Route 66

nor am I lamenting about
a structure ravaged by time

I'm merely wondering
where she went

is she down in the basement
or did she go out for a walk

and should I look for her
or should I  

leave things be

Whit Howland © 2020

Tethered
to a metal ring
in descending order

they clink they jingle
like bells or chimes
as they dangle

and swing
from your slender
fingers

I look through your window panes
and find the music
as I reach farther

than I ever did before

whit howland © 2020

And the sun is sunny
side up

with a yoke begging
to be broke

and lapped up with a nice greasy
piece of toast

no rain today because
I said so

what we project is all we will ever be
to those

who  will never take the time
to  really know us

i woke up
early

mostly because
i could

no longer sleep
i vacuumed

the living room floor
swept out the dusty corners

and instead of pointing
to the bluebird

in the backyard
perched

on the brittle branch
i'll steer you

toward the toby jug
sitting

on my mantle
it's more interesting

Whit Howland © 2020

You say angry I say bright
and festive

we may change but we can't change
what was yesterday

and love

our continual love
to be exact

must
remain a constant

October's slimy kiss
of wet

the air peels away
the layers

as it harvests this year's
summer crop

the soul

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

There's something missing
from my life

a part of me that floats
through the aisles

of dusty correspondence
and dispatches

something

a  piece
maybe a pawn or a knight

that never made it back

Whit Howland © 2020

I went searching
for myself

but found you among
the clouds

where the air is thin
clear and my mind is light

much like my heart

I'll tell your story
so I can someday write mine

Whit Howland © 2020

Tweed and not too
formal

lighting
muted and soft

mirthy
and small conversation

and quiet
plinks
on a piano

ambience
is what it's all about

escape
and just enough to keep

the wild things
at bay

Whit Howland © 2020

a pop
and a flash

the process is
fast

and nothing pretty
or fancy

the switch is flicked
the filament

glows
to a hot white

a birth

a light

an idea

prayers should always equal
action

Whit Howland © 2020

your voice
this morning
left me with questions

blustery gray
or blue and sunny

boxers
or briefs

and

autumnal gold
or blooming

flowers
in Spring

Whit Howland © 2020

Like the brother who said

you can have it

you slip out when I
slip in from the night shift

and our fingers only
slightly touch

but it's just enough
for a connection

to keep the ghosts
at bay

and drown out all the lonely songs
about about a pale and sad moon


Whit Howland © 2020

it's the sum of all its
parts

the spark plug belts
fuel

and water pumps
filters pistons and the many valves

but most of all the
silent

and greasy hand
that made the magic happen

Whit Howland © 2020

Like I remember
my mother

I know
what it used to be

the day dims
and grows silent

through the window
the TV glows

and house lights
blink like fireflies

when everything was new
and fresh


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