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Your silence
A  full stop
To my words
Not to my love...
It still hides behind
The fallen leaves
That you walk upon
Do you think they lay down
Just to kiss the grass?

Random, as always:)
Thanks for reading.
in between the crack
of day break and the
cimmerian night

the heart hovers in lands
of dreamy abstraction

here I am with you

in between the purlieus
of fantasy and reality

in the breadth that forms
the boundary between
earth and sky

here in this divide

we exist

Cimmerians were mentioned in The Odyssey of Homer (11.14), where they are described as inhabitants on the edge of the world by the shore of Oceanus, shrouded in mist and in perpetual darkness.
Love not the empress curve of your cheek,
The many-storied, empty ziggurat of belief,
The man-handled, baked brick built so high,
Your grotty thighs are pasted with all your lovers,
Your lacquered heart is glazed by luminous grief,
Head-bearer of broken vases as your crown,
Filled with dry dust from liquid stars.
And if all the world's a stage
I'll always find myself

in the third act a nondescript
dot or blob on the backdrop

and if there are shadows
I'll find the largest one

and move with it
my contribution to you

my gift

Whit Howland © 2020
An abstract word painting.
Sitting in the faculty lot
thinking how I'm as nervous
as my students
for our first day of class
going virtual, live every day
with all the lack of control
and all that could go wrong
(and it will)

I sit here
staring out
into the darkness
an impending storm threatens
as thunder urges me to drive
and fat rain splatters my windshield

but then, I begin to smile
because another storm will hit
and tomorrow will be fraught
with incredible mistakes
all except for one

THEY WILL be back in my classes  
and, oh, how I've missed them
like a mother
of too many children

I can't wait to hear their laughter
to form connections with each class

I can't wait for school to begin again
Here's to a new year
one that will forever change
the lives of teachers everywhere
and so, we push forward
Please don't ask me
to be luxuriant

what I see
is what you'll get

my eye washes away the color
and strips

the world to its naked

because life and survival
depends on thinking clearly

with an unobstructed

Whit Howland © 2020
An abstract word painting. An original.
I like the feel
of a lime

small and firm
in the palm of my hand


I like the texture
of the rind,
fingers roving
eyes fixed
on the vivid green

and I like
when you slice
emerald crescents
a **** treat
just for me
Cheap and juicy
I could write a million poems about
about how wondrous you are
how you have opened up
the midnight sky
to show me galaxies
that I never knew existed

or of how you
plant gardens, a burst of blossoms
in every color
blooming eternal in my heart
just for you

or how you have pierced through
the ashen veils of grief
hanging over my eyes
to give me glimpse
of sunlight again

I could write a million poems
but my words
will never be enough
to tell you
how much you mean to me and
how much I so deeply
love you

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