before our very eyes
or face

like we are falling
or colliding

destiny
maybe

but definitely
a silver bucket

and a brand-new pair
of cleats

Cherry stained
rose wood
silver
jangly
thirty five
a rough year
money
like honey
sweet
but hard
to come by

© Whit Howland 2019

Press that button
pull that cord
plug it in over there

and see that red signal light
blinking
I need your help

maybe
could you check
for an alternate spelling

or try dialing
that number again
I am sure it's right

that's the number
he gave me
please sir/ma'am

I am desperate
so very desperate
to make a connection

In the morning I wake
to the beginnings
of a mid to late
March day

and that morning
muted like a trumpet
is sepia with snares and cymbals
coloring

the seconds
the minutes
the hours
with an improvisational crayon


whit howland © 2021

Steam rises
from a sweetened

deal

and a once
bitter cup of coffee

now swirling
with Dorsett cream

we (you and I)

are talking about
coffee

we swear

it's so delicious
or shall we say

delectable

whit howland © 2020

Bubbles
run up the sides
of the polished
green glass

and another pressed record drops
as the diamond needle
scratches
across its surface

music to our ears

that if we allow it
will find its way
to our hearts and fill our heads
with delectable food for thought

whit howland © 2021

Bundle
of newsprint

in the driveway
on Sunday

thunder
up and chunder

whirlwind
funnel cloud

life and pages
now torn

asunder

whit howland © 2021

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

Whether they're growing
in the garden
tall proud
or in their waning days

through her lens
my wife gives every flower
equal tonal value carefully
preserving their
hue and chroma  
with love and doctoring



Whit Howland © 2019

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

Much
of what confused me
I see today unravel

the big ball of rubber bands
now being fileted and
the strands laid out in precise rows

in the forest
mist shrouds some trees
and tries to screen some others

but again
my eyes peel away
the cloudy layers

even though
there is a steady stream
of tears

© Whit Howland 2019

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

our memories
like petals

scattered
about the ground

far too many
to collect

we are losing
each other

I can feel the
slippage

but we'll keep
digging

whit howland © 2021

If  there are ghosts
they are of
the friendly variety

rippling
white sheets
and eyeholes

floating
down
the hall

but not you
and never again
will it be you

your face
erases
and grows fainter

each
and every
day

whit howland © 2021

Blue

a mixture green
the color

of grass in summer

with yellow
like the summer sun

and that to me is something
that will never equal

sadness

or over ice
or crashing to shore

aged Old Spice
and a ship

wrecked
on a faraway reef


whit howland © 2021

Cloudy now
and the skies
are gray

wet we are
about
to get wet

it was hot today
and blue
but not my kind

of blue spent
the whole summer
alone

on this porch swing
without you and where
you went

I'll never know
I wish I had a map
so I'd know where to go

she haunts me
still

her last gaze

glassy sad
angry

wanting a hand
to squeeze

as she faded into sleep

I wish
I wish

I wish I wish I wish

I swallowed my pride
like bitter medicine

hugged her one last time
and said

it’s okay
let us fight

no more forever

Whit Howland © 2019

"But baby it's cold outside"

and now that
I'm older
I feel it deeper

in my bones
like little jabs
and icy pinpricks

that turn
to thoughts
and syntax

and words like
affairs house
and order

are what come to mind

a platter a piece
of ham

and eggs
that are green

but it's your definition
of green

that
worries me

for not only
do I have certain tastes

in my shades
of that color

I have my preferences
for how

I like my breakfast
served to me

and I prefer
a bit more truth

and a little less
power

whit howland © 2021

Quick
like quick

silver
winged feet

messenger
too fast to ****

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

blue waves
roll one
after the other

in the distance
a cluster
of tropical palms

although native girls
and outriggers
try to distract us

we are drawn
to the  dormant but imposing
presence of Diamond Head

paradise is fleeting
and as always
time is ever short

Soap flake snow
and a plastic
candy cane path

to the gingerbread house
and velvet throne
where he sat

cheeks rosy
and oh so so jolly
with a little help

from a magic flask
and it goes without saying
those were the days

risky yes
but that was most of the fun
feeling so free

riding our Christmas bikes
without helmets
pretending we were pilots

flying without charts
barnstorming
hook or by crook

or

our chinny chin chin
and by the worn-out seat
of our corduroy pants

Often
I  ponder

about the purpose
of dreams

and why the mind
isn't merely wiped clean

and reprogrammed
every night

when moonbeams
breach our windowpanes

and
kiss the skin

whit howland © 2020

we're on the other side
of the fence

and yes
it is what they say it was

but not quite what we thought
it was going to be

people tend to exaggerate
and fabricate

building suspension
and tension

when they are waiting
for something

they should have seized
long ago

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

I climb in and out of you
like a jungle gym
slide down your slide
spin on your merry go round

what makes you tick

passion and intensity
is something I get

but the other part
is just so foreign to me

whit howland © 2021

The foam atop my beer is like the stuff
that laps the shoreline

the lazy song of a record skipping
on the jukebox

peace

is something you can find anywhere
and find it

you must

Go to the Farmers Market
buy pears and cucumbers

wash the dishes
fold the laundry

water the plants
iron your pants

have
a rootbeer float


and more

items
on the list

taped

to a plastic bucket
from the Silver Legacy Casino

the jackpot never came
but the odd quarter

here and there
along with pennies

pinched

and stepped over
to get to dollars

in the end
added up to something big

folks

life was good
and don't let anyone kid you

the small stuff
did matter

twice a day
and I'm such a broken man

unwind
rewind

set back
turn back

be a dad
what a joke

pull my finger
my string

yank
my chain

whit howland © 2021

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

All night the snowflakes
fell

and they were robust flakes
in the cold clear air

and all night
the earth slumbered

under
a soft white blanket

we are the metaphors we
choose

and last night we chose
the earth

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

Tracks
in the snow now crunchy

big feet
and the pitter-patter

of little feet
crisis crossing each other

and no need to ask
what it all means

with no scheme
rhyme or reason to this thing

whit howland © 2021

The right words
of appreciation

that is the rub
because

they must
be economical

while pure and
clear

your book of poems
tattered yet

loved

you words verse
short and sweet

though they
call out the demon

by name

Whit Howland © 2020

What is life
but one I never
knew

without
a stray bolt
or ball bearing

rattling
around
inside my head

whit howland © 2021

still hot humid
at fifty
we've done
all we can do
our bodies strengthened
retrofitted
for the red yellow
leaves
frosted by autumn
our minds still warm
limber
hints of winter

only weeks away

© Whit Howland 2019

A youth
that I'd like to think
was better spent

but so much time
got lost in a flurry
of white noise and fuzz

I say we'll always
have Christmas
not quite Paris

but
close enough
for drinks and cigars

The Moon glows
as the night ages

and I grow old
with it

Like
pond water

agitated
with a stick

that
became muddy

we were

but are much
clearer now

and no journey
was ever necessary

you and I made a home
right here

at the edge
among the reeds

As the tide goes out
uncovering

the sand bar path
to the light house

and children laugh
hurling

beach *****
and seaweed


as sandcastle after sand castle
gets trampled

it's one deafening
question

that I'll always
refuse to answer

would we have lost each other
in the hustle and shuffle

of family

Meaning

of a wild
uncultivated plant
or the plant bearing it

meaning

some said you were
ill-mannered of bad upbringing
and undisciplined

but I hope you know now
I never listened
because it was

that pure
white blossom
I picked

with such relish

No more test patterns
at 2 am

or TV Snow

the world
is open all night

a convenience store
for the mind

replete with chips
Ding Dongs Twinkies

and don't forget
soda pop

whit howland © 2021

as summer
lopes
with days
more doggy
than ever

it seems
keen sight
has given way

to acute hearing
of things

like a clock ticking
and putting down

bottom
to the soundtrack
of my life

and when i hear
my cat's meow
and see the red

yellow green
pop and flash
behind my eyes

outstanding

I tell him
as he limps
on his clubfoot

by me
into the haze
of this magic afternoon

Whit Howland © 2020

We are always out of time
as we drive by

running from our own trolls
and demons

to stop and see
what animatronic terrors

await us

fire engine lips
big tongue
bulbous nose

free lunch

TANSTAAFL

surgical gloves
a steady hand to sew

through chaos
comes order

hence
the peach-colored sunset
behind a scaffold
of darkened branches

whit howland © 2020

It's in their eyes
an expression

or mood

as if someone pulled on the switch
in the room or the mind

pastel baby blue

feelings over facts
abstract over concrete

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

Oh the leaps our
mind makes from
one lilypad

to another
hip-hopping
across a pond

with water
black
as night

whit howland © 2020