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

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

Light and simple
in its construction

and efficient
in the wind

as it catches
a current

and soars doing
loops

and arcs
before it crashes

to the floor
with yet

another failed pass  
at heaven

Whit Howland © 2020

we need
we need

and i guess
there is no other way

to verbalize it
so i will just blurt it out

because as you can plainly see
things are coming down to the wire

folks it's like this
and sorry if this is a crude reference

but for the love of Pete
we need to

you know

or get off the ***

Whit Howland © 2020

I've grown so used it
that it no longer phases me

what

the sounds of the ice maker
the numbness of your frosty lips

the glass filled with water
sitting

so precariously on
the counter

Whit Howland © 2020

Hi guys!

Could I respectfully ask you to
fix the glitches on this site?!

Hello Poetry means the world to
many of us, even if we do not and can't
contribute financially.

I love to see my friends work.

It's not you
me

or about a place

but more to do
with what exists
beyond

the structure
and can we trust
each other

until we earn
the right and the ticket
to ride

Whit Howland © 2020

A bite a kick like a glass
of sweet but ****
lemonade

we're older now and we kid
ourselves when we look
in the mirror

and at others our age
we don't think we look like that
but we do

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

Your last and for the sake
of love
and charity

I'll say it was a good one
and I'll venture even farther
contesting

it was likely your best
with air probably the richest
a man could ever breath

and the lofty wind
that whistled through your nose
gave you the resolve

to launch
above and beyond
to things only you

now can understand

Whit Howland © 2020

When lonely's
comfort food
and
misery loves
the company
of other
stranded and wounded
souls
huddled
for shelter
and warmth

Whit Howland © 2020

but please believe me
when I say

not to worry

and assure you that
the Mind

the Soul

and the Body

know their craft well
and always do
their job

Whit Howland © 2020

Kay Ryan
where have you been
all my life

one of unrequited
years spent

trying to slake
a hunger

for verse

it must have been
snowing
in Flagstaff

or you would have  arrived
sooner

but before you came

it was  as if
words and music

dissolved
in my mouth like
cotton candy

unlike the t.v. dinners
you ration out

the delectable noodles
and meatballs swirling

in greasy gravy

the fuel
to send me further
down the road

the endless  journey

Whit Howland © 2020

My cat lies across my stomach
her eyes squint when I rub
the back of her head with
my thumb

when she's had enough
she jumps off my chest
makes for the table
and parks herself dead center

it was sunny today
but that is a mere distraction
right or wrong
better or worse

she's my child
my life
the center
of my universe

Whit Howland © 2020

It's politeness
blocking

us from its core
and

preventing us from
pulling

the common thread
so the cloak

unravels
and

the more we tarry
or

dilly dally
the more complex

the thing grows
so for Pete sake

can we just skip

hello

Whit Howland © 2020

Soon the lamps will dim
the trees will be silhouettes
in the morning fog
then maybe later
the sky will open up to an expanse
of  solid blue

and maybe you'll come
home again
it's never the same
when you are gone

Whit Howland © 2020

Better yet
why

am I here

rays

of sunlight

refract

through
the frosted glass

of

a louvered window

Whit Howland © 2020

And snow falls
like God
shaking
out his hair

little flakes
on the back of the shirt
a few on the comb
after it ran through the strands

still covering
the dull pate
where did they go
where did we go

how did we get here
this state
where we own
almost embrace

our foibles
our chinks
in what is now tarnished
armor

Whit Howland © 2020

An ornate affair
with a restored

marquee
and neon sign

restored

to it's 1940's
splendor

that is

inside's
a gilded lobby

and auditorium
with wine colored

velvet seats where
we are

willing to forgo
comfort

for something
dear and constant

in our lives

Whit Howland © 2020

still brown suede but now scuffed
they're older than our marriage
and I still look at them like they're new

staring at me from that plateglass window
down in rummy Pioneer Square

I won't let them go just like I'll never
let us go and I'll never abandon old Seattle

like Coney Island
it still exists in the mind

Whit Howland © 2020

Whether it be a lonely
guitarist

or

a woman on a storm swept
street

her black blue mascara
running down her cheek

possibly between the bilgey
rain drops

and I'll cut this short
because

this piece this
canvas

is about more
we

are about more

Whit Howland © 2020

Is she staring out or looking
inward as she sits

in a spare room all
neat and efficient squares

and rectangles
her red dress

offsetting the flesh tones
the hospital gray of walls and floors

will she stay

or will she take the plunge
into the night

that's like murky water
but clear enough to see

the outlines of buildings
resembling the splintered planks

and masts of the ship that wrecked
so long ago.

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

Right now it's something
to ignore

a chore
this plastic leaning Tower of Pizza

planted
at the end of my driveway

through the tinted window
the early morning gets more yellow

with the sun
as I look out upon the lawn

like it's an endless crazy ocean
past the box

like it's an embattled
buoy

and try to get comfortable with my
lopsided universe

Whit Howland © 2020

The night we called it 
a day

I remember that night

mostly the day

there've been a thousand of them
in a thousand lifetimes

cloudy gray
with raindrops
as dingy as mop water

so many times
have I been scrubbed
squeegeed and wiped out
of someone's mind

Whit Howland © 2020

Hard

so so hard

not to want to
paint it in purple

purple cars
purple clouds
and sky

purple boulevards

and

purple
sea and people

this bardic purple
verse

wants to drip from
the mouth

like
shall we say

lavender honey


Whit Howland © 2020

I mean if it were metal
it would rust

but it's plastic so the snow won't
hurt it

with that in mind what does
it mean

and I'm not writing to you
to say nothing

I've cashed those chips in
long ago

we've captured something
a moment a scene
could it be just

a part
to a bigger whole

the snow is getting deeper
the box

harder to see

in a minute or two
we'll have nothing

but  a stupid
conundrum

that's better than something

isn't it

Whit Howland © 2020

Your tone
should always be
conversational

but professional

highlight your
strengths

and when possible
weave dross into
strands of gold


tell the story
however
control the flow

of the river
so as to keep the narrative
on point

mostly though
you'll want to make it clear
for all to see

that you're a caterpillar
fast becoming
a big and beautiful

butterfly

Whit Howland © 2020

through my window
floats
a bevy of blue ghosts

their cold light
intermittent  

like the message on my old
answering machine


Whit Howland © 2020

What's left

no I won't
say

the word

only two syllables
yet so

powerful and so
interchangeable

and right now
the gate

keeper and arbiter
of what's sane

and what is not

Whit Howland © 2020

like a bag of bricks
my conscience

you must have felt it too
and my breath

even from a far
when our eyes locked

and you knew you were being

pursued

so sorry
it was a heavy load I bore

for it was urgent
business

whit howland © 2020

Something comfortable
but with pizzazz

fine lines
a touch of leather

and brushed
nickel

we think aloud
in unison

we complete each other's
sentences

with relatively speaking
the same syntax

whit howland © 2020

sugar tongs figure
into this thing

as does a cupboard
a sugar cube a rose leaf

and I'll try my hardest
to resist the pestle

Whit Howland © 2020

It's most liberating
knowing

I don't have to understand
the poem I

just have to connect with something
about it

whether I'm enchanted by
the imagery

or entranced by the
rhythm

the most effective poems
are those

that charm something
universal from my

earthen jar of a heart
that pulls

the rest of me
upward


Whit Howland © 2020

And I no longer
fake it
life writing

that is

my eye
now both cool
and warm

I can feel
and also see the sun

and paint the sky
in an appropriate hue

a small observation
I know

but something that can't be
overlooked

a gift a treasure
for evermore

Whit Howland © 2020

Of glass that sweats
and labels that peel

in all shapes
and sizes

colors of liquid
from root to birch

onto creamy
and tangy

we can live again
love again

and we can definitely
come home

whit howland © 2020

A sovereign head of state
usually a king or queen

but you could probably get away
with saying

potentate

through the grimy
plastic blinds is Franklin Avenue

Hollywood
and it's raining buckets

this is the era in Los Angeles

where the air is dingy
with smog

it's like living
and dancing on the head
of a cigarette

so a dreary wet slimy
day is embraced

with outstretched
arms or

should I say wings

Whit Howland © 2020

rising

it's
silvery

reflection
glints

off the calm
ocean water

the night is still young
and crazy

but it will get older
wiser

as we will
with it

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

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

next to an ashtray
opened

with the cellophane
pulled back

and an off white
stick

pulled
like a finger

sorry
that's more than just a punchline

it's the beginning middle
and someday

the end of another

human comedy





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

They're more like ***** cotton
as opposed to black
but it's coming

the storm that is
not us
we're okay

we've done all we could
closed the windows
reeled in the laundry

pulled the car in the garage
we'll hunker down
in the middle of the room

it'll pass

Whit Howland © 2020

fact

i woke up this morning to 98 degrees
and steamy

it was so hot
that as the old saying goes

you could fry an egg on the pavement
for good measure

i added spam and bacon
to that mix

but the real issue
sizzling

on the front burner
is

when exactly will this
end

corollary

or
whether or not we want it to

Whit Howland © 2020

That slatted promenade
the paper ducks the
shooting gallery

and the spools
upon spools
of cotton candy

was it Santa Cruz
or Atlantic City

it was so foggy then
it's foggy now

and much has happened
with you and I
along this stroll

up hills
through valleys
and everywhere in between

but if there's been one constant

it's how tightly we clasped
each other's hands
so hard and earnest

that our wedding bands
stamped our skin
like we were certified and registered mail

Whit Howland © 2020

Tracks in the snow

a small game trail
deer path
or footprints

ciphers
symbols
signs

of steps
equals
forward motion

progress


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

There's a much better poem out there
about you

it's one I probably wrote

like you
I found my niche

though not among Greek Isles
excavations
blue water and olive trees

but in the rough but
loving paintings

hung on walls
in places

seldom remembered
and mostly
forgotten

Whit Howland © 2020

Tonight I'm into your
colors

that might've been
black and white

but in time
and based on much

of what you've seen
in  your life

have been mixed and stirred
into shades of gray

there's an owl
at your window

and it's my sincerest hope
that he's just an owl

Whit Howland © 2020

The future came and went
without

a squeak as it creeped
through

the back kitchen
door

we're old now
but

look at us then

what the heck
were we wearing

Whit Howland © 2020