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

We run we
want to escape

we try but we
can't hide

we're here and then
we desire to be there

the grass was already
a bright shade of green

why did we ever think
we needed it greener

Whit Howland © 2020

Oh how it howls
like through a glass
jar

dark is the sky
and days much
darker now

where did it go
you go
we go

when did the worm
turn it was a fat one
but for someone else

other than us

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

There's something
I need to say to you

this morning

but when I try
words always fail me

and like a sneeze
that never happens

it lingers in my throat
and nose

not to mention
the eternal buzz

and the sting
of frustration and impotency


whit howland © 2020

that it's here
in it's gray cloudy

glory
and bluster

such wind
and bluster

yep

that's all that needs to be
said


whit howland © 2020

I look at you
and I

in pictures
and sometimes marvel and

sometimes blanch
at our hair and what we're wearing

good memories for sure
mixed with a few that are bad

but never any regrets about the places
we've been

and there's much excitement
about the brightness of the light

that illuminates the path
forward

Whit Howland © 2020

Red
like a red rubber
playground ball

wet
from a late
October rain

it was a solitary galosh
that did me in floating
and suspended in thought

robbing me
of those early morning hours
of sleep

while you snored away
and I haunt the halls and rooms
of the house

to shoulder
yours
as well as mine

whit howland © 2020

Deja vu
maybe

in any case
we've been here before

muddy waters
dull days

murky
uncertain future

a crossroads
and all that

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

I fear my change may only be fleeting
because
although like Pharoah

you've hardened my heart

you left me with a full set of teeth
to come back and take another bite at the apple

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear John,

the Bagnall Dam Zone
is just your speed

lots of people crowded in bars
gone to seed

but places
where you could tend
serve drinks and dispense

your brand
of dimestore philosophy

we all need

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

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

here
but for how long

no signpost up
ahead

or rest
for the befuddled

not to mention
why

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morning clouds
give way
to blue—

the burning off
of dross,

as I give way
to rote movement:

physical,

mental,

spiritual—

shedding
what no longer
serves,

like leaves
falling slow
into light.

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

splattered
on canvas

tattered hat
shabby coat
worn pants

painted lips
three-day growth

against a fleshy
beige backdrop

we weren't born this way


what happened

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

Through the window
I heard

a bluebird chirp

no

it didn't sing

it chirped

Whit Howland © 2020

What to do with a restless heart
and a restless mind

for inside
things must be burning

with flames so high
they kiss

the sky
and beyond

an unquenchable fire
or thirst

a question never
answered

an unrequited
love

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

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

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

like a face
its expression changes

mostly
on a dime

reacting
to the moment

a decision at the
snap

is it fight
or is it flight

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 always known you
to figure it out

something

usually works
it's simple

as it always
has been

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

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

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

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

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