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Whit Howland Aug 2019
of light



soft eyes
hard stares

jokers faces
sad mugs

steady hands
restless feet

sweet dreams
choppy sleep

of light

just enough

to mop
***** floors

grimy counters


sweep out
dusty corners

whit howland © 2019
Inspired again by an Edward Hopper painting.
Whit Howland Jul 2019
Dear Brother

I hope you are well

but since we've  fallen out
I have no way of knowing

as well as
whether you mind these letters


these letters

are the power cord I'm trying
to unravel and some day
with a lot of fumbling

I'll find a socket I can connect it to

because brother
you see and I really hope you do

I'm trying to give a lonely lamp
some companionship
and further light the room


with the warmest light
I can find

your brother

Whit Howland © 2019
Inspired by the art of Edward Hopper
Kenn Rushworth Apr 2016
Wait and walk hollow in hollows
Above the earth
Army green, army green,
The silent army of silent trees
Aside desolate roads
Hear the empty voice that goes:
“I’m the one that follows you home”

Sit and talk hollow in hollows
Inside the world
Lily white, lily white,
Funeral flowers **** the pets at night
In unopened windows
Hear the empty voice that goes
“I’m the feeling that keeps the doors closed”
The Village was nearly swallowed by darkness,
Until I stumbled upon a fresh fluorescent light,
Emitting an eerie glow out of a subtle all-night diner.
Suddenly, eyeballs projected a noir-style movie.
This unique heaven lit a cemented pathway,
Which led toward nowhere but American desolation.
Exploration of blank stores was not an option;
A disconnected joint across the open street was obvious.
The cornered beacon called to me as if dreams lived,
Though the seamless wedge of glass deflected observation,
Onto the viewer I represented, isolated from the anonymous.
Lungs were not interested in Phillies, only graveyard shift.
The scene held four strangers shut in spacious congregation.
The figures filled in the white void with physical presence,
While each owl was remotely lost in their own thoughts.
Was it the tragedy that occurred at Pearl Harbor,
Possibly the hopelessness World War II offered?
Could it have been the disappearance of happy innocence in ’42?
Hopper alone can probably discover a whole to the loss of words.
Somehow the constructed simplicity was overwhelming:
When late night minds meet morosity yet still produces beauty.
Subjected into one, the loneliness of a large city can exist too.

— The End —