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displeased to report all my attempts
proven unsuccessful

the poetry that forms yet mocks, gloriously,
all things that which avoidance was intended,
this stuffing,  too tough to swallow, just surfaces ******* me,
appears unMasked, pushing, bullying to the head of the line

my will contravened, and now in review, poems suspected,
poetry was a wonderful, grand failure, to wit, escaping to
the fore, were the very words from which I sought relief, they,
didn’t escape my view, so when imprisoned, they were damning

words that arose from the gullet gorge, as you can espy verily,
verified words of little value, no truth, these them are the ones
I’ve come to despair + despise, hurtful to my eyes,
my escape not merely in vain, but rocks hurled,
so my escape foiled*

beneath buried
while out walking...on a SUNday afternoon...

the senses five have vacated the premises,
sun doesn’t rhyme with June or moon BUT,
two out of three say get thee to liberty child,
go outside, find the mottled color rabbit and
smell the light, its scent arrives with hints of
old lyrics, huckleberry friend, feet humming to
let the sunshine in with “visions of harmony and
understanding, sympathy and trust abounding”

so you see the writing comes hard, but the knees
promise with every step to return, recur, recapture
each pleasing flag and line, every odor, all the perfectly
nonsensical so that a walk is a poem, an exercise in
harmonious...that a drifter like me, vague remembers
someone singing, like him, that he is:

“off to see the world,
there’s such a lot of world to see
we’re after the same rainbow's end,
waitin' 'round the bend” and a moon river...
Let's not make a federal production
out of this

it's just laundry

clean not *****

trousers shirts
socks and underthings

flapping like pennants
in a breeze

on a clear day

with a pastel blue sky
and warmed by the sun

Whit Howland © 2020
This could be construed as  a "Red Wheel Barrow" knock off. I'm okay with that.
When I sit on the beach and think of the ocean
The dream comes with the waves and ask me
'what's in my mind, what do I think alone?'

The ocean says to me with the rolling waves
'to get down and to swim in that blue water'
The waves on the beach and I are such friends.

I have also realized, all waves are like siblings
As if they're talking about my hopes.
Again I have started knitting my sweet dreams.

The sounds of ocean waves are singing in my ears
happily in happiness without any request,
Then this time I forget all my loneliness and hurts

I love the sound of the ocean waves
and like the blue water and quicksand,
I melt with the ocean when the wind blows.
Under the cherry blossom tree
He sits, looking to the sunset.
A life of moon, snow, and dewdrops
Content, his life does melt. So it is...
Death poem
Cupping drops of chocolate in island palms,
I ate one like life, sweet and bitter;
like silk and butter; like the sweet dark
oblivion of sleep but better.
And in my trance I took another,
and another, until I had just one,
and mindful now of what my indulgence
would soon become,
to be no more, I savored the last drop
and rolled it about on my tongue like
a word for one I love,
and after wondered to myself-
in which drop lies the deeper satisfaction
now that all were passed?
The very first one, or the very last?
I have stood for  
And witnessed  
Arm up with hand raised  
And a delicate finger hell bent
Like a Pope placing compassion  
On an aging head  
While he weeps  
And tells his secrets  
To someone he should consider
Only a man
Only a man
The nights have stood for it
They had taken their stand  
With eyes of a moon
A crescent  
In their part closure
I was told they would weep as well
And so I raised my hand
For the world
He was only a man
My hours wander
I trail them
And turn my head  
To minutes past
Each tick emptying seconds  
Into waiting  
This hope holds anticipation  
In my belly
Once the foreplay to lust
And wild ambition
The purgatory in it
A tremendous heaven promised
But only Hell
Only a man
Only a man  
My thoughts dwell in the Nin
I read her desires  
And find...
In his eye  
My hair  
And the extent of it  
Into the stars  
And their restlessness  
The volumes of dreams  
And perverse reality  
Hold my comfort
blooming my confusion  
Little FLowers
My lost home  
The Delta of Venus  
It might just be okay  
My love  
Wherever you go
I might be too
Even without you  
You are only a man  
It can be lonesome
In the wilderness
Once again  
And you will not be alone in it
without my track beside you
You would like to hear my footfall
stop to bend
And ****** into me your river
your might gripping my hip
To have me plead your name
To beg for you
And pant you are a God
But I shade myself now in these thoughts
from any condoning  
Of your deity
You are only a man  
And I am my own woman
You do not hold my sensuality  
Or my hand  
To put it up  
To lift it over your head  
Without sight of me
While digging into my parts  
You forget a disembodied soul
It's longing and need dismissed  
No shelter in you
no home for it  
I am only a woman
And with you a shell
Of pink and golden arching
That curved you a dynasty
And place to sleep
After a sit down with Anais Nin
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