The dream the intent
gone long ago
like all good things

whether it should have passed an unfortunate
unnecessary debate

but also
up for discussion
grabs

the importance
of form structure of a dream

and the worth of a historical
timeline of an automobile
from fin to future vision

Whit Howland © 2019

A scribble
doodle

of a lollipop tree
or thingamabob

on a paper napkin
that might've been

used for

a ketchup stain
lipstick print

or a drop of running
mascara

why am I
here

it's definitely
not for the eggs

and steak
they call Moo and Peep

and it's not to feed
the soul

but it's definitely for the vats
and vats of sizzling oil

greasing the gears
spinning my wheels

the world's waiting
to give you

the brass ring
will you be ready to grab it

What comes to mind
is death
and the afterlife

and unraveling
the mystery
of what it's like

red white
white red
red white

vegetable
beef
vegetable

sometimes
just a dab of silver
to let you know they are cans

whit howland © 2021

It's an image
I can mass-produce
on cue

ladling syrupy
sentiments into a cup
like punch

depression glass
frosted
with flourishes

filled with candy
wrapped in flashy
gold cellophane

all because
I'm trying to
sell you what you want

whit howland © 2020

A clown's makeup
cascading down his face
under a hot spotlight

your call so long ago
a Dear John Letter
mostly in audio

a broken vase
with its ceramic pieces
fanned out across the floor

thumbing through
a high school yearbook
and a picture of me and you

no logic no rhyme
no major scoop
to stop the presses

life
just goes on
in one eternal loop

whit howland © 2021

Safe to say
used

but better said
spent

on the wood of a deck
now peeling

it was cheap
and he claimed

that moniker
as well

Whit Howland © 2020

or is it a slate
to scrawl on
with chalk

to draw to
solve to flesh out
life's riddles

to put together
the ultimate puzzle
one etch/ piece at a time

to diagram
the building the
sentence the story

to complete the circle

the beauty being
even though
it is slate

nothing is ever
written in stone
for it can be erased

and the canvas
is always
blank

whit howland © 2020

The smell was sweet
when you dropped

the hammer on that roll
of red ribbon

making the gunpowder
puff

and it almost smelled like success
when you watched

your imaginary foe
grab his chest

and fold over
that hitching post

Whit Howland © 2020

Sometimes I write
and the words

jump off the page
and dance

it's these short
bursts of imagination

that keeps the ink
pumping

and flowing
from the heart

Whit Howland © 2020

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

Time it seems has stood still
for us to admire

the purple budding flowers
in spring

the red
and yellow leaves of Fall

or the moss-covered headstones
in the graveyard

behind a quaint clapboard
chapel

we are not at a crossroads
there are no pivotal decisions to be made

we are free
to keep spinning the wire rack

flaring the nostrils
smelling sponging

and sometimes chewing
the scenery

getting lost in the wash of Americana
and nostalgia

Whit Howland © 2020

gentle water
lapping the hull

bossa nova
clinking glasses
a tickle
of the piano's ivory keys
and you're lost

in giant strawberries
of a daiquiri
dribbling down your chin
onto your palm frond top
and shorts while you

swing and sway
poolside

tomorrow Ocho Rios Jamaica
but today sun and sea

tonight the crown stars
and a ruby juicy
fingernail moon

Whit Howland © 2019

a cold sweat
trickles down
the waxed sides of the carton

when it's pulled
from the refrigerator
and with one inconclusive whiff

I wonder
why I'm here
and whether or not

I am still suitable
for mass consumption
or way past

my expiration date

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

All the things
I see
in fiction  
the mental jetsam
of dreams

I can no longer say
this isn't happening to me
that this

is the stuff
of others

this is real

and I am here for
a little while longer
maybe just another hour

© Whit Howland 2019

they're incongruent
concepts

comfort

curiosity

responsibility

but in
instances like these
I can reconcile

with any inconsistencies
and see life

as ten frames of bowling

with strikes aplenty

Whit Howland © 2020

it was the one
that roped me in

the picture
you sent me long ago

the one with
your bright smile
and eyes wide
with anticipation

you are standing
among other revelers
on Spring Garden Road

there's a beer stein
in your hand

you must have
been celebrating
something big  that night

what was it
what was making
you so happy

that one thing
I could never crack

your happiness

anyway
I've kept this one around
even though I shouldn't
and

today I'm older
and right now

I'm standing in a
harbor side gift shop
in Catania Sicily

a new wife
and happy life

she just bought some
post cards of the city

pictures of side streets
and ally ways
scrubbed so clean
and shiny
they almost smile

I'll keep one
replacing yours

because it just hit me
like a blinding beacon

what you were doing
that night and why

you looked so happy

it was the one
that roped me in

the picture
you sent me long ago

the one with
your bright smile
and eyes wide
with anticipation

you are standing
among other revelers
on Spring Garden Road

there's a beer stein
in your hand

you must have
been celebrating
something big  that night

what was it
what was making
you so happy

that one thing
I could never crack

your happiness

anyway
I've kept this one around
even though I shouldn't
and

today I'm older
and right now

I'm standing in a
harbor side gift shop
in Catania Sicily

a new wife
and happy life

she just bought some
post cards of the city

pictures of side streets
and ally ways
scrubbed so clean
and shiny
they almost smile

I'll keep one
replacing yours

because it just hit me
like a blinding beacon

what you were doing
that night and why

you looked so happy

Sloopy no
those are shoes I can't fill and won't

because

we connect with people
by forging our own path

through an even denser forested
patch of land

and then looking up and
pulling our own truth  from the sky

and possibly making that sky
much bluer a little less cloudless

and the day
a little more bright

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

Maybe it's me
and my slothful ways

but something
and I mean something

has riled them
as they vault

somersault
and skitter in and out

of my bedroom
my cats

I feel their frustration
at my failure to launch

into this hot hazy Saturday
all my Friday weekend plans

rapidly evaporating
as if

on the freshly tarred sidewalk
outside my window

whit howland © 2021

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 people that offend me
not you

you represent an idea
a point of view

someone’s vision
of how a cat should look and be

calm
but wary

perched on your hind legs
and though relaxed you’re ready to strike

blue eyes seductive and yet
disapproving

I trust you
but at the same time

I don’t want to turn my back
I’ve been burned before

by people
not you

you represent an idea
a point of view

your ears pricked back
like your perturbed

your mind
surface tension

Whit Howland © 2019

ceramic
with a childish image

of an ark filled
with simple happy pigs

giraffes
and elephants

sans
the smiting rain

and
biblical justice

I’m sorry
most days as hard as I try

I fail you
miserably

so right now
I need a God that forgives

with an abundance
of gopher wood

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

Such weak light
it sheds

over the table
I'm over you

and I had a good
run until we got

too deep in the dark
woods

of analysis metaphor and symbol
so much so we literally stopped saying

I love you

could we have
should we have

I guess we'll never know
and it no longer matters

such weak sauce

Whit Howland © 2020

It's all I have to go by

the lurch of
wheels

the clicking of
tickets

and the rolling scenery

sliding from city
to town

to country flat
to hills

back to flat
and hills again

now
a cymbal crash

and something
completely different

there's a raccoon
that often comes to my porch

I feed it
and after thinking

and smoking on the issue
I've decided to call him

SLUGGO


Whit Howland © 2020

The sun beats down on the street
like a rented mule

not even a stormy Monday
for me

just hot
and getting hotter

maybe I'll thank you
somewhere down the road

but right now

the sun beats down on the street
like a rented mule

whit howland © 2021

What I might buy
for a dollar or a dime

some cheap petameter
or a bad rhyme

about

love passion
or betrayal

something
like that

maybe more lurid
and purple

on days like these
all we can muster

is a piece or a scrap
of morale in a glass

served with a joke
corny or crass

or even worse
a  bad pun

Jump
like over a red plastic

or bakelite piece
and maybe

a mad dash
around a track

either way

I'm over it or
went from zero to sixty

rubbing and racing
and there she is

easy on the eyes
billowing

in a breeze that's gentle
and easy on my skin

victory

beneath us
brown roiling water

moving rapidly
downriver

as we anxiously peer
around

a wooded
bend

Whit Howland © 2020

Red
Black
move
jump
KING

nothing to it

you are making this way too hard

but it is hard
for a square peg

in an ocean  
of round holes

white blossoms
                swaying in an April breeze

petals
          twirling to the ground

best of both worlds
                   fruit and flower

precious things
                    that never meet




Whit Howland © 2019

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 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

We TALK
and we WALK

through a GARDEN


not of stone
daffodils

or red roses
but of

GLASS glass
of all  MANIPULATIONS

and because of this
FLOWERS  trees and other

natural things
no longer satisfy

what I want is now
much

HIGHER
PLEASE believe me when I say

it is much
HIGHER

So much rain
                   these days
the streets
              the sidewalks
are overlaid
                  with a glaze
it seems everywhere
                               I turn
my world is slick
                           and smooth
last night I dreamed
                            your skin was
porcelain

Whit Howland © 2020

you’ll want more
you always do

but no poem
is ever perfect

like Christmas trees
on a lot

they’re either
too full on top

or
too slight below

and this poem is no exception
just the essence

of a loved
wooden hutch

with only traces
and outlines

of Nana’s
precious plates

saucers
and teacups

not enough
concrete  imagery

for critique
or analysis

but more than enough
for action

like maybe a phone call
to a mom or a dad

What is missing is something
I can't wrap my brain around

you always say I'm not subtle
and that is true

I just wish I could be more delecate
in my communication to you

but I'm too obsessed
with how things fit back to together

like plates and cups
and I love the smell of glue

Whit Howland © 2020

The fiery exhale
of a dragon

or the rollercoaster
we rode

and what a lovely ride
I often think about

how it could have lasted
longer

but then I have to remind
myself

not to second guess
perfection

Whit Howland © 2020

I'm here to bury
confusion

not to give it
voice

or a pulpit
from which to proselytize

we worship
truth

we practice
truth

we don't just spoon it
every now and then

into a cloudy cup
of coffee

Whit Howland © 2020

Messages
of common sense

coupled with dimestore
philosophy

slipped neatly
into sugary wafers

while the Great Wall
in faded gloss

exists far across
the dining room

in the beginning
there was light

albeit pale

and our mouths watered
but what we came for

never really transpired
and we left

wanting more

of what we do not
know

It's what we're drawn to
and what we draw

a teapot
painted face
a plain table

along with muddy light
from a ***** window

and the rest of the canvas
only there to encourage ownership

is it a dream
personal memory

or does the mind
surely jest

whit howland © 2021

Green red white
and blue big bulbed

Christmas lights
on a fake tree

it stopped being real
ages ago

Hello again
my old friend

just sending you
some yule and Christmas cheer

winter is here

but none of the white stuff
this time

only the steel gray like
our hair

that we pretend is silver
amongst the gold

red blue green
white

and weeping with
tinsel tears
of joy

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

More a meditation
than a description
of a scene

a window
busy with Christmas
figurines

tinsel
ornaments
and streamers

a tiny tree with lights
stands next
to Mary Joseph and Baby Jesus

you’ve got me on a tight rope
walking gingerly
over troubled terrain

love on one side
hate
on the other

but I come with good news
and that news is
it's been mostly love


Whit Howland © 2019

The stationary space ship
or silver bullet train

of many youths

with incongruent and shiny
chrome

where they still serve
up

a healthy platter
of comfort

and warmth with a side
of truth

Whit Howland © 2020

Not even close
to something

as fine as
you

rolled
coffee brown

and neatly
trimmed

a sweet
Tobacco burst

of sunshine

I am talking about
a cigar

seriously

it is just
a cigar

whit howland © 2021

I'm watching

the rubbed charcoal gray
being

rinsed away by darker
then
whiter lighter blue

to be over taken by
the pink and orange

of a technicolor sunrise

Whit Howland © 2020