Smooth Canvas,
So deceitful so eerily beautiful.
I am what I seem,
nothing more and nothing less.

But what do I see when I stand
in front of that faithful mirror?
Do I see a featureless face,
or do I notice a true being?

The mannequin that I am,
sees a soul in her reflection.
Passerbys see only my offwhite motionless body.
But inside I know what I am.

he seems a man particularly a man
particularly of a fat acne face splattered
erratic blemishes. to about the grunt
of his flaring nostrils long haired spouting
mouths
              , he's splunking waddlinglittlesteps
hithe r wi th e r (the bookstore's a most
quiet almost quiet almost noisy noisy quiet
steps fading rushing
aboutaboutabout
the isles the aisles the offwhite ravished pages
noiselessly disheveled bang

Death by Mike Tolhurst

There’s a breeze blowing cold through the Kaiwaka
And bringing rain to the sodden ground;
The wind of spring still carries its winter bite
Blowing through the eaves with a whistling sound.

Theres a touch of order in the garden now
The lawns are mowed up to gardens edge
The paths are swept clean of leaves
And the electric cutter has trimmed the hedge.

The house was painted again last summer
An offwhite colour to match the walls
The inside was tidied up
Ceilings lowered over polyurethaned floors.

The legal office is established there now
Clients coming to call at home
She says the place is no longer hers
And that she doesn’t have it as her own.

Truth is that life never stays the same
No matter how much you might want it to
And here at number 7 Bank Street
Things have changed for me and you.

The existence that we once had before
When children ruled the way we were
Is all at sea inside a vacuum  
And has disappeared never to return.

The passions gone to another place
That we have lost the directions for
And somehow in the dead of the night
We misplaced the key to each others door.  

So lets take the beauty of this place
The Tuis and the expansive views
And start afresh without remorse
Replacing the old with the fresh and new.    

Theres a saying that goes something like this
Enjoy what you can endure what you must
When alls said and done we get but one life
Then its ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

The sun is a dreadful satsuma,
A man who looks like an Algernon,
with tomato sauce stains on his offwhite vest paces nervously,
Lives discarded,
As books turn to ash, word lost into the unrelenting forward waddle,
Memory palaces unmoored and imploding,
The sky pregnant with skin and consumer goods,
As sheet metal drops and curls like polyester scarves,
The hideous snake like hisses of sirens,
Eyes darkening like a newborns.

i am from pastel purple easter eggs,
princess dresses covered in glitter
— the kind that gets itself everywhere, all over the floor as i spin around and around while singing along to the jonas brothers at the top of my lungs.

i am from that little yellow house on morningwood ( the only one with the triangle roof ) that we would leave to go to disney world, kentucky, georgia, the moon
— anywhere mom wanted.

i am from nana's spaghetti, splattered all over the offwhite velvet dress i got that christmas morning as i watch any and every disney movie while sat on my belly in front of the tv.

i am from crying at fireworks; the sound not the sight. running after butterfies in the backyard as the sun dips deeper in the suburban sky.

i am from the seemingly little things that some might consider childish. sure, they are, but these memories fill me with happiness.

dorothy was right. there is no place like home.

Spinning
the world is
spinning

out of control
I don't I don't
know

I focus on you
and only you
your deep blue eyes

black eyelashes
your offwhite porcelain
skin

Whit Howland © 2020