Quick
like quick

silver
winged feet

messenger
too fast to ****

whit howland © 2021

Permit me to go
deep

because there is nowhere else to go

but to ponder the meaning
of silver

and the properties of
aluminum

and which metal is more precious
as well as

is value something that can be measured
or

is it all just conjecture like the best way
to crack an egg

Whit Howland © 2020

Fire engine
candy apple
cherry

red

two little bells
perched atop
with shaky hands

tick tock
tick tock
tick

RING
RING
SMASH

the time is here
the dye
has been cast

arise
arrival
my wife

your husband
a long
and happy life

whit howland © 2021

Do I dare
write

do I have the courage do
I defy

myself to go
beyond

the box and better yet
stomp

and break it down
to its cardboard

nothingness

and to never feel
the compulsion

to stand aghast

you opened up poetry

like I've taken to
cracking words

like eggs
and reconciling

and being satisfied
with the yokey mess

Whit Howland © 2020

dare I say it
a ****** not a clang

as a breeze tiptoes
through the valley

and the tulips
yes

we've had some
rough times

but I think
they're behind us now

I've finally figured
it out

whit howland © 2020

A classic car
turquoise

blue
with chrome

WHOOSHES

by in futuristic
flurry

it's style and make
now

etched in my mind
as well as a desire

to go back to
a time

when things were
simple

and all it takes is
fifteen seconds

to make your claim
of fame

with me

Whit Howland © 2020

What I remember

most

was the glass globe

covering the pieces of bright
lemon pie

sitting on the teal green counter
long

before it was burned by
everyone's

cigarette

did we trade or did we
barter

Whit Howland © 2020

Serenity

captured
so beautifully

in almond blossoms
and blue-green

something
I almost stopped
searching for

but then it came
on a tickling
breeze

just enough
to ruffle
some petals

you're a good man
Charlie Brown

Lee

or whomever
you choose and decide
to be

Whit Howland © 2020

broken glass
bottles
trash

strewn
brutal
flowers

runners
joggers
shiftless drifters

along
once an
industrial river

now
cold
dead pond with

lumbering barges
up down
pushing

rust
junk
sometimes coal

eerie
sad
in between

or

say
strangely
beautiful

brutal lunch
ladled
raw

on a big
steel
serving spoon

© Whit Howland 2019

I'm not going
to use ten dollar verse
when ten cents will do

somewhere
a place
sunshine
someone

I miss you
you're not the person
I once knew

whit howland © 2019

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

deep moody
red

compliments
his plain black suit

and black
broad-brimmed fedora

at his fingers
on the mahogany bar

just
slightly out of reach

a dry martini
with a drowning olive

it's a solitary scene
and we are lost

in somewhere else in
some other time

in a moment
maybe private or otherwise

Whit Howland © 2019

He makes his own shadows
in an ocean of amber light

a fedora obscures his face

his dark suit melds
with the leather of the couch

and an outline of fingers
caresses an amber drink

the fragment the  hanging participle
the remainder in long division

and the business
that's never finished

Whit Howland © 2019

it's like
being mugged by a mime
with a gun


who's trying
to make you believe
it's a finger

or the one about the jump rope
you'd rather

skip

better yet the submarine
with screendoors
or the pink flamingo

the lawn jockey
dogs playing poker
and the best for last

cats juggling

yes it's true
i  have a flavor
that takes a little getting used to

Whit Howland © 2020

My cat coiled beside me
on the couch

both he and I
creatures of the night

him
by choice

we are bonded
by the glow

of an amber globe
that looks like

it floats
in the front yard

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

Sometimes we ponder or stand
aghast

and sometimes we refract
redirect

or outright ignore
the light

Whit Howland © 2020


Whit Howland © 2020

Glops and swirls
of red white
and blue

it does not fly
or billow in the breeze
it hangs

a piece of art

something to start
a conversation
you know

just small talk

with no guarantees
but no fine print
and definitely

no dotted line
to sign on

either

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

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

A hazy day in summer
with cicadas
buzzing

we swing

on an old tire
slung over a tree branch
getting lost in an afternoon

so long ago

whit howland © 2021

the street you describe
I've never been there

but I have kicked a bedsheet
a time or two

and maybe I've reached
for cigarettes

I've been hot and cold
more cold blooded

you might say
in the true snake sense

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

A hearth fire crackles
that is how I know
I’m not alone

because

the log glows bright
with warmth

that flows through the room

it’s that warm cheer
that makes me know

you are near
and that's because

you’ve never been far
this I know

something I’m positive

is true

Whit Howland © 2019

Pallet of green
brown
gray

obstructed
destruct
construct

strange things
kaleidoscopically
arranged

natural
literal
and metaphysical

What do I really see
in dreams

sometimes
all I am

is on a stage
with

our life our love
mimed

in gestures
motions
and

every now and then
a silent scream

Whit Howland © 2020

Prairie grass grows
again

on this treeless plain
and we’ve separated

the gold
from the dross

so much has been
restored

and there’s so much to be
grateful for

this plain stretches
past

what we can actually see

we are free to imagine

we are free

to dream

Whit Howland © 2019

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

One side of my face
is masked

in shadows

the other's
draped in gray

out there somewhere
a tablet
has been written on

soon to be found

Whit Howland © 2020

Ever since
the flashing red light

we've been caught
in a loop

of tag
and no tag backs

a current in the sea
of humanity

that pulls us farther
and farther

away
from the shore

Crisp
apple cider air

October
it's finally here

leaves
and other things

at the end
of their string

with acceptance
comes dignity

honor
and most surely

peace

whit howland © 2021

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

I'll love you

if you want
our lives
can be inter-twined

no beginning
no end

and our earth will be
round

not flat

and our happiness

and our sadness

will whip up the most spectacular
storms

complete with churning
clouds

and waving sheets
of rain

that will water us

and make it grow

Whit Howland © 2020

If I had brushes and a canvas
I'd paint it

a gathering
soiree or better yet

a ticker tape
parade

a celebration
of one's life well lived

and deserving of such
reverie

whit howland © 2020

it's 50 degrees
the sky is steel gray

in the middle of May
and I love you

but I will never be in love
with you

if you don't understand that
then you are the one

who has the problem with
literalism

Whit Howland © 2020

Are we men
or

are we ants
bees termites

there have been numerous times
I questioned

my presence and role
as a human

most of those came
from living

in a place
of grimy corridors

lined with naked bulbs
emitting

weak
and pasty light

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

mishap
maybe
but definately

not and act of God

no warning given
and no discernable
clues

just a hurling big canvas
painted with pastels
nonsensical

at best

White with specks
of magenta

on the edges of
the petals

the stamen lodged
firmly

at the center of
the bud it's

a still and precious
appreciation

of a life
meaningful

though
not too deep

Whit Howland © 2020

Six of us crowded
on those
splintered steps

general store
Bunker Hill Illinois

my hand unintentionally
on the thigh of the girl
to the right

she took a took a number
long ago

and the store

burned down in
one of many decades
I intentionally missed

whit howland © 2019

Every time I tried
to draw a straight edge

there was always a bump
in the road

I stopped so long ago
trying to be exact

it only takes one burn
that scars the hand
to never again

want to cook
or go near a stove


Whit Howland © 2020

a toy boat with a
makeshift
sail

floating maybe

gliding

on an earthy colored
and glassy
pond

surrounded
by tangled
greenery

there's a breeze

though
it's more an
invisible hand

nudging
the vessel to

but mostly
far

and away

Whit Howland © 2020

An art exhibit
for the mind

with
works inspired

by mostly those
with places to go

things to do
and people to see

but we're not losers
or misfits

we're here to put
voice

to their actions
and speak truth

to their power

Whit Howland © 2020

Buckets
of flashy yellow nuggets

by the bullion
it is there

if you are fool enough
to search for it

Blue sky
crisscrossed

with
chemtrails

the first butterfly
of the season

and a lawnmower
gasping

for that last
bit of gas

point

you ask

point is something
usually lead

and almost always
on the end of a pencil

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

and we tasted life
with its blend

of sickeningly sweet
flavored desires

such as
the earth the sky

the water and their
cornucopia of garish

reds oranges
electric blues

and we didn't have much
you and I

but what we had
we revered like we were

smelling and swirling
the finest of bouquets

Whit Howland © 2020

Bubbly soda
fizzing
to the top
and up over the lip

of the glass

so much poured in
and so much gushing
forth

but

why stop there
why let this just float off

into the beyond or the

ether

whit howland © 2021

When I say add  
sugar

you'll just scoop and tip
the spoon

and watch it sprinkle
into the bowl

very few if no questions
are ever asked

the good news is that we'll all
basically want to go to the same places

in life

and we are willing to write the poems
sing the songs
and dance the dances that will get us there

Whit Howland © 2020

savage heat slanting
rain

night and day
sleep dream and

wake

clouds faces
anvil heads

people I love

and hate

sorry to say
I thought out here

that would go

away

Whit Howland © 2020