Pelting drops
of rain always

the soundtrack
of our stormy Mondays

but Mondays sad songs
turn to Tuesdays
water color moments

which beget
Wednesdays workmen like
prose and philosophy


whit howland © 2019

It's about that time
when the mind  wanders

starts to play
and walks the tight wire

between
liquid and solid

dream
and reality

Woke this morning
to an empty
room

the curtains were
drawn
not painted

to
only slim speers
of sunlight

but this is not
a woe is me
poem about loss

and loneliness
quite the contrary
though

it is about being
alone
and how the mind

is inspired
by time solitude
and the devil's idle hands

© Whit Howland 2019

Cracks
deep cracks

more like fissures
in the asphalt

and if you are like me
who

never got past this
first barrier

then you missed the treasure
at the end of this dusty rainbow

Head to toe
wall to wall

Jazz, blues
rock and roll

bouncing
up and down

on weak springs on
a saggy couch

15 minutes of fame
I'm lucky at ten or seven

and that's
with the squirting flower

but what you really
don't comprehend

was that you left
when we were on the mend

yes the wine is cheap
but apparently though

our love
was much cheaper than that

On top of the world
I am

well If not the world
at least the roof

right now it's sunny
but there's a storm coming

the clouds are gray
and the wind's picking up

stirring the ground
and blowing me

every which way

About a guitar
maybe a man with one?

or better yet
a metallic pigment?

it was

the cut of your jib the tone
of your voice

you wonder why
I did

what I did

I wonder why
you left me no choice

Grease drips
from gear and chain
but only in the mind

as do the wheels spin
with king and jack
slapping the spokes





Whit Howland © 2019

Buckets
of flashy yellow nuggets

by the bullion
it is there

if you are fool enough
to search for it

but not for Sal
you or

even me

these droopy white flowers
with dark

blackened blue
tasty berries in the middle

whit howland © 2021

Cue the ticking
and then the ringing

as the metal trinket
vibrates

on the table
the  counter

eggs are done

or must we
put down the pen

as that  puts an end
to the test

and it's the pressure
the stress

of a time crunch
or crisis

that never fails us
when we swing

for the fences
swoosh for the stars

mixing and tripping
over our metaphors

in our relentless
pursuit of success

Take my wife
PLEASE

STAND UP

as in also
you  stand up
for

LOVE
SPOUSES
for

SISTERS
BROTHERS
for

MOTHERS
FATHERS
f­or

COUSINS
AUNTS UNCLES
for

NIECES
NEPHEWS
and also

United
WE STAND UP
for

EACH OTHER

Mutant darts
or
if you prefer

cricket

the board
was your lawn
green in summer

but seriously

what were we thinking
as we launched
these big metal missiles

with plastic
feathers
on the other ends

and that's the thing

back then
we just did
and that's what made  

all the difference

The walled city
slick and wet but
preserved
by drizzle
salt and spray

came with a monastery
peopled with nuns
and monks

that worked wasn't
just for show

and
planted us firmly
on a rock and back
in time to give us gifts

before it launched  us forward
to a better sense of place

All that knowledge
for

a  couple of trips
around the board

as well as pieces
of that plastic pie

for the win the
victory

trivial
of little value and importance

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

In his              
plaid sport coat

pulling tissues
from his paper sack head

flinging them

slinging
bathroom jokes

cackling
jigging

a comedic
unknown soldier

known only
to God

A curt goodbye
no good luck

just hard stares
and harder bargains

78 degrees today sun
cloudless

in our neighborhood
lawns freshly fertilized
cut
and green like dollar bills

walls stripped bare
now cold

papers shredded

family photos
trophies

some silver some
gold

all tucked
snug
in banker's boxes

whit howland © 2019

Plinking ivory keys
of a black lacquer piano

on the burnt and amber
swirled rug

smack in the middle
of economy class

roasted nuts
in a pewter mug

drinks in a cold glass
cloth napkins

and cash was king

we tend to overwrite
what we intend

to overbook
and sell

Buttered boards

sturdy frame

in front
a gi-normous
unapologetic
Holstien

next to it
big boot shiny spur

lassoing huckster
towers above
elicits tautologies

it is what it is
what you see is what you get
and either the steak is good
or it ain't

to further impress

broad  bold brush strokes
sells the tickets
moves the iron
and always wins the day

whit howland © 2019

Solid
the color of steel
that much is clear

but an area
where things get
murky

how could that be
when overtime
it becomes the color

of our hair
when we turn wise
and able

to see the forest
for the trees

gray
the color of days
that are cold and rainy

and there's no
ambiguity
in that

Constructon paper
and a wet felt tip

I said

was all we ever
needed

to make
a million dollars

you believed in me

my dreams
my promises

I'm sorry I shattered
and broke them all

one by one
vase by vase

pitter
patter

rain taps glass
                                   the beat  changing
                   
                                  sometimes
  on a dime

                             then just a nickle
    all the way down
                         to a penny

    no rhyme or reason
just naked drops of raw

improvisation
              
                   soft

with thoughts
          
                            flowing freely

and happily        

while windshield wipers

                                                wipe

awa­y
                            any feelings

of sadness

                                                or consternation

Whit Howland © 2019

There will be blood
there will be sweat
and there'll be a fountain of tears

but the picture is worth
more words
than I 'll ever give you

the missing piece
find it

and you've finished
the puzzle

whit howland © 2021

a box fan
whirring
shuddering

in a dark
corner
of the room

cold air
on my legs
bed sheets flaking away

then
claws
a cat

it's
sandpaper tongue
across my calves

© Whit Howland 2019

Is it a bug and something
you can't put down

just lust
or is it really love

and longing

sunny day blue sky
and golden wheat for miles

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

obscured by ink
only wide eyes
and an outline

lightning
popping
like hot flashbulbs

I fumble
in darkness
for a key

before
he
flies away



Whit Howland © 2019

Tweezers
buzz
"butterfingers"

and bulbous sneezer
that is touched
by a feather

to make it
sneeze
and tickle

the funnybone

That bleery sunrise
staring back at you

has nothing to do
with *****

but something else
something
you could not put down

something you
stayed with

all night rooting
and cheering

for the things
the people

and the world
you really cared about

I've got
many ways
to say no to you

but instead
watch

as I slam
the door off
it's hinges

feel the vibration
that's no

moving on

let's find an image
a metaphor that says
I love you

something
cliche

a rose plucked
crushed
into oil

bottle broken
potion spilled
all over your finest
blouse

I love you


© Whit Howland 2019

torchlight dances
on the aquamarine
blue of a hotel pool
deep in 1963

when happiness
was still on the Hi Fi

coulda woulda shoulda


Whit Howland © 2019

There was no beginning
to our journey

and hence
there'll be no end

and like a divining rod
I was led to this card

and sentiment

as I always am

Orange
with a pinch of crimson

that's the sunrise
at 8 AM

Caught
between drops
and lines

in this storm
there is no
thunder

or lightning
just many questions
about

where rain ends
and brain worms and
whimsies begin

For most poets
it's  an obsession
a nagging one

a golden thread
through out their whole
sartorial collection of verse

we poets wear
our art
like suits some

fit better than others
and
some garments

well some
just need to be shot
like lame horses

I'm being tangential
and sorry
for the cruel morbid simile

but for my obsession
motels
the art deco flea circus variety

lately though
motel
and hotel art

it could be that
I'm in a really good place
for once in my life

that I can just
binge and gorge
on still lives of

cheap grocery store roses  
and
whimsical pictures of prancing horses

Whit Howland © 2019

an alabaster buddha
and a Navaho ***

a trumpeter swan
white like ivory soap

some chess pieces
from the franklin mint

intelligent design
no

better homes and gardens
not by a long shot

and they say

still waters run deep
but shallow

is clear sunny
and warm

A flashing light
and a painted
Elvis gyration

flippers
a silver ball
and the sounds

bing bing
bing **** bing
bing bing bing

Brother

I think about you often
how you were bounced
back and forth

between homes
schools
happiness and sadness


and the short stack
of quarters you turned
into

free game after
free game after
free game after

free game

Just flat gray
on a canvas

painted

sometimes
globbed in spots

with a thick
brush

some might say

dull

but it can't all be beautiful

can it

or some days
is it just best
to be

consistent

rather than always
try

to swoosh
to the stars

or swing for
the fences

Whit Howland © 2019

A ***** rag shines the mahogany
past the arm of my shabby coat
it nudges the smudged glass
with her face swirling in the amber

She laughs at me
and the world laughs
while I sit on this wobbly stool

Punched

Whit Howland ©2017

Peace

today
is what I've

made with age
and life

I love you

is what I wrote
this morning

on last night's
cocktail napkin

red blue green
white

and weeping with
tinsel tears
of joy

we've made it baby
to easy street and parts
beyond

black
cast iron head

blonde
wooden handle

the magnet
you were

and I
was the steel

but too bad
it had to be the hammer

you thought to be
the only tool

you
ever needed

I always try to remember the good stuff
but it’s hard
to block out and forget the cold

it was cold and rainy that day
hop skipping
and jumping

to keep up with you
on bridges
over canals

through alleyways
and bicycles
oh how we parried

to dodge the bicycles
and how I’ve tarried
so long

to think about and make sense
of what
it all meant

but like I said
I just try to remember
the good stuff


Whit Howland © 2019

Copper
or maybe tin

on a ring like keys
to a kingdom

where life was once lived
in measured tones

and precise
rhythms

a sacrifice

whit howland © 2021

always right
before dawn
I am
young again

worrying that
I can't physically
see my face

this feeling
like a riptide

the more I fight
the farther I'm
pulled from shore

what always
saves me
an old television

wooden case
hissing remote

it's analog
so nothing other
then dots of snow
blips bleeps and

other delta
and divine waves

that never fail
to gift me years
and wisdom

that put me
right to sleep

© Whit Howland 2019

To say you had claws
is an understatement

your cat talons
like little saws

could have cut away
a forest

and

the snaking scar
you made so long ago

still  runs down
my arm

and gives me devilish
inspiration

which is why
it's called

Old Scratch

What's left
has spilled onto the floor
and finding

it's way to every crack and crevice
of this shabby room


10 frivolous bucks for an overshaken
can of soda

it was all I had and all
I could enjoy

was I the sucker that didn't deserve
an even break

or was I the one born
every minute

Do we close our  eyes
to imagine
the smells of Paladini Fish Company

and let our minds
launch and wander
to thoughts more abstract

or

perhaps we keep
them peeled and fixed
on the scale depth  and width

of Aliottos  
and Pompeis Grotto

or the current
human interest
both manicured
shabby and in between

but yet

maybe there's
a better way

faint lines
here and there

fuzzy and grainy
photographs

just the essence  
of a place
moment or time

a verse about
what we loved

and someday
what we will miss

Whit Howland © 2019