"lassoing" poems
Further still
Heat laced with wet silk
Lassoing isn't so easy
With hair forever unkempt and breezy
Reckless, careless, tossed to the wind
I close my eyes only to rise and fight again
Broken through the quakes, the rubble
I've got moonshine veins
Laughter like bubbles
I wrap you soft and sweet spun sugar boy
Only to fall away, this run hiding toy
You put far too much into my hints and clues
I'll be your heartbreak if you'll be my muse
A deal is a deal, sing it soft, dance slow
I want to hear it all go down
I want to be front row
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
I understood I would never marry,
buy a house, have kids,
mow the lawn on Saturday,
wash cars, clean the pool.
I had an atypical plan,
thinking back, for my life:
a wanderer, adventurer or pilgrim
without want of firm roots.
Each destination a chance happening,
an introduction to the unexamined.
Sidewalks, cafes, alleyways, and life
being lived, journaled for remembrance.
The North Country, New York;
Watertown, Carthage, Clayton and Ogdensburg,
strolling their streets dripping
history and memoirs never told.
Lassoing thoughts from wild conversation
with caffeinated coffee shop poets,
struggling with Calvinistic thought streams
and priests in moments of doubt.
My theories in marble.
Gently chiseled with each interaction,
chipped, thoughts evolve
leaving inference among spilt beans.
All memories and dreams mingle.
l hold them gently.
As midnight creeps I’m untethered,
drifting from the shoal once more.
Suddenly I sense wonder:
The Appalachian Trail at Katahdin,
Continental divide at Loveland Pass,
Mount Hood from Pacific Crest.
Have you ever witnessed
views of Mojave’s Kelso Dunes?
Felt the Great Basin’s rainshadow chill,
or contemplated Joshua Trees in prayer?
Often the life of could have been
is more lucid than I am,
kneeling gnarled,
pulling obstinate weeds.
Shallow breath’d and gazing… scanning
my cut grass, clear pool,
a loving wife, adoring children,
my home…
This man,
mind wandering,
acquiesces,
to clarity of thought.
I would have… could have
been that man, that other life,
a Walter Mitty dreaming
a life; mine.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
I love you.
Always remember me like that.
When you dredge me up
from far-off memories,
like lassoing in tiny fishing vessels
from a distant foggy shore;
remember me as the one
who loved you intensely,
who had big, hazel eyes
that looked at you with
all the love of the world in them.
Remember me when
I nuzzled my head against your chest,
and pressed my ear to your heart.
Remember me as the girl who
loved you more than she should have.
As the girl who didn’t want to break your heart.
Remember me as a wildflower
coming into bloom,
catching the sunlight on a cloudy day.
As a cat stretching out
on a sunlit window sill,
begging you to touch my head.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
*Treading eyes
Afloat from a pool of liquor
As the liver overloads.
A hand
Around a red cusp traces mine,
Clocking hearts in for overtime.
The burning of a
Gaze overtaking
The cherry suns,
Warming inhibition.
So on occasions rare
It only takes two eyes to see what thirty cannot.
Eyes locking lashes
Lassoing souls together.
Two bodies bow tied to one.
Stitching fingers to perfection
With hands
Creating a cocoon around her chest.
Waiting for her wings to grow.*
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 3:51 AM UTC
Never Trust a Guy Who Irons His Jeans
Strong canvas is the stuff of adventure
Like a cowboy lassoing horses wild
It captures the ocean’s galloping winds
And to even wilder ships harnesses them
Strong canvas is the stuff of manly work
Defense against fierce cactus and desert dust
Loops for the hammer, pouches for the nails
Sacred vestments anointed with sweat and dirt
A good man works hard, and says what he means
But never trust a guy who irons his jeans
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
this will be a year of discovery.
a time of floundering
through seas of uncertainty
until surfacing
somewhere in starry-eyed serenity,
stuttering foreign tongues til they
roll from your lips
like old friends.
this will be a year of courage.
of quivering feet chasing mountaintops
to root themselves in truth
and yell from naked sound booths
what your soul has found you.
of grabbing fear by the *****
and lassoing stars
so you can swing clear
out of this galaxy and
orbit a solar system of dreams.
of climbing the tallest redwood tree
to glimpse all that you can see,
and taste forbidden fruit -
juicy satisfaction, wild and free.
this will be a year of unfettered hope.
though it began in the shroud
of Hades' darkest days,
this year will unfurl golden lotus light
dripping honeysuckle sweetness
onto dried tongues
so they can speak of fearless love.
this will be a year in which
the cruel reality of returning to the dirt
will sprout freedom,
a time of realizing the worth laden
in this impermanent existence.
of plucking the sweetness
from flowering present moment bliss,
fleeting fractals of forever
wrapped in eternally flying seconds.
tick, tock, tick, tripping through times tendrils
and tackling the tendency of tip-toeing
around taboos and tucking tribes into tailcoats.
trapeze through taxidermied truths
until you find a tangoing tune.
breathe in peace,
breathe out light.
this will be a year of moon gazing nights.
of lazy laughter, and daisy dancing.
of miraculous mistakes, and tiger prancing.
so throw doubt out the door,
baby, this year is all yours.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
Buttered boards
sturdy frame
in front
a gi-normous
unapologetic
Holstien
next to it
big boot shiny spur
lassoing huckster
towers above
elicits tautologies
it is what it is
what you see is what you get
and either the steak is good
or it ain't
to further impress
broad bold brush strokes
sells the tickets
moves the iron
and always wins the day
whit howland © 2019
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 3:04 AM UTC