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Placid countenance, your eyes fall
Upon my prostrate form.
Unchanging countenance-
Plaster and paint-
Assume the visage of holiness
Before my worthy soul
Worthy of comfort.
Affection given in unstinted measure
How you,
Plaster goddess
Serve the uncomforted.



copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2011
I like words with “B”s and “th”s
Like blither and blather
And hither and thither
Can I take “st”s and make them into “th”s?
Monster into mother
And
Twister into twisther?
How much softer and more polite
With much reduced spittle.



copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2011
For some reason,
I walk softly on this ground
Expecting perhaps to be chided
if I make an unwelcome sound

Among stone sentinels in scattered rows
beside a clear stream that perpetually flows
are markers with names both common and bold
for mourners and the curious all to behold

Some come to release dammed up tears
others to tease their deepest fears
Some like I tread so lightly they leave no tracks
but others come bearing burdens like heavy sacks

I read the dates and do the simple math
and create my own tales of each soul’s path
Some lived eighty, some lived less
and others carved numbers seemed to confess
that the trail they walked was likely brief
and with each breath they exhaled cold hard grief

But my stories are surely not real
and my reveries can hardly conceal
what I conjure up among these standing stones
and the crumbling and hidden sacred bones
are tales that mask the shivering thought
that soon I will rest in a similar plot

For some reason,
I walk softy on this holy soil
and in some coming season
I will finish my toil
And lie near this same clear stream
and begin my own blank eternal dream
This was probably inspired by Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard" although I had not read the poem in more than thirty years when I wrote this one
EVERYBODY got ‘em a cell phone
pissant with not a nickel to pay his rent got him one
i ain’t got one or the quarter to use this pay phone
sittin’ there behind me waitin' for me to feed it
and hear that jingle like some slot machine that always pays out
temptin’ me like some shiny new toy
but i got two pennies and i ain’t even rubbin' them together
back then, back when nobody had no cell phone
i filed pennies down on the street to make them the size of dimes
when one of them dimes could by me a marshmallow pie
from a vendin’ machine at the bowlin’ alley
that ain’t there no more
but some cell phone store is
but that don’t matter
i don’t want no cell phone
i would like me one of them marshmallow pies
and an extra quarter to give this hungry phone
yesterday, some lady give me three quarters
and i give two of them to Jose to call his mama and sister
he gave me two smiles
i kept that other quarter to make a call
but couldn’t think of no number
or no soul
want to hear my voice
so i give that quarter to a little boy
who was all alone
and didn’t have no cell phone
**inspired by a photo of a homeless person, sitting on a bench, leaning on his mobile shopping cart home, with a pay phone behind him--one of a series of poems I wrote that were inspired by the photos of the Texas homeless--I was in a Langston Hughes mood when I wrote it--wish we could post images with our work here, for the picture is far more poignant than my simple words
how vast this ocean
of remembrance
into which i plunge
i lock this ocean away inside my shell
its surging depths, a frightening display

i lock this ocean away inside my shell
tide's pull would have me drowned

i lock this ocean away inside my shell
breathless within its fathomless measure

i lock this ocean away inside my shell
but you may hold me to your ear
and hear it still, and hear it still.

whispering, whispering
(for who can contain an ocean?)
your face
delivers its message

tears flow
between blunted dreams


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2011
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