Of all the seasons, summer
is timeless.
The summerblown cornfield,
windwaving sunbleached white gold,
is forever,
and the time of wild strawberries,
small and freely given,
is outside time.

Happy dreams too
are timeless.
On waking I am filled
with an oceangrey
mistgrey
cloudgrey
regret
that the dream was not reality.
Yet I am glad to have felt joy,
and the beauty overcomes the sadness,
as the sweet wild sound of the pibroch
transcends the lament
that gave it birth.

Even the smallest
of minds

is an incredible thing

for instance

one look at Rialto bridge
over the Grand Canal

as water taxis flit


it comes to us
our small mind that is

in crude but evocative
language and prose

this is a place
a world

we can visit

but never
ever will we or should we

stay

Whit Howland © 2020

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

The right words
of appreciation

that is the rub
because

they must
be economical

while pure and
clear

your book of poems
tattered yet

loved

you words verse
short and sweet

though they
call out the demon

by name

Whit Howland © 2020

this man by my side,
his love pinned me down.
his love runs through me.

but it's another face
i see, i caress
when i lay down
and my sheets are bare with his absence.
i don't know why.

i don't know why,
but my man on the side,
when his fingers run across me,
my whole world is his
beads of sweat dripping on my chest,
and falling down my side.

it lasts just a moment,
i don't know why.

my insides are rotting
my teeth have fallen out
my head is balding
im ugly, no one would love me

yet theres always that one person
who thinks your beautiful
despite being so flawed
be that person to someone

and both of you might find love