and I only know
I'm there

because I'm told
I'm there

waiting for a bus
I'll never catch

a room I can never finish
packing

or a feast  I'll never
eat

each night the same things
just served
on a different platter

Whit Howland © 2020

Though naked
it gave us soft light

the swinging bulb
deep in the basement

that we kids would ping
to make it brighter

until it burned out
forever

almost like we had
killed the mother goose

that laid the golden
eggs

Whit Howland © 2020

When I close my eyes
I always see

Paris sketched in hard
charcoal

I must have arrived
too late

in life for the dreamy
muted tones

of innocence romance
and youth

Whit Howland © 2020

With a distant lawnmower
      as the soundtrack

            he barks

and I watch from a green hilltop
           as he swipes

one more time for that brass ring

in the form of a fluttering
         monarch butterfly

just above his nose

Whit Howland © 2020

Time does not freeze
it flows

like the water under the milky ice
we use to skate on

that our toe picks chipped
away  

when we needed to stop
or

slow down

time that is

Whit Howland © 2020

Sometimes we ponder or stand
aghast

and sometimes we refract
redirect

or outright ignore
the light

Whit Howland © 2020


Whit Howland © 2020

This morning I awoke to gray light
coming through the blinds
because of where the master bedroom
is positioned

conclusion
we spend most of our lives in darkness with
a little bit of ***** sunshine sprinkled in
every now and then

that is if you choose to accept
this assessment

Whit Howland © 2020

We knuckle down
you and I

in a circle that can't be
broken

and it's a give and take
as we shoot

each other's mibs out
of the ring

collecting much more
of you

and me with each and every
game

the rain it
falls

at first
in tiny drops

so gentle on the face
arms

and thus the dilemma

do we stop
unravel the tarp

cover the field turn out the
lights

and seek the shelter of stairwells and
bathrooms

or do we play and
pray


the downpour never
comes



Whit Howland © 2020

Please excuse me
while I wrestle

with this blessing
one rung

at a time an
object

versus symbol
of the thing

to climb to
reach

to go to higher
ground

to pierce through
the clouds to

blinding sunlight

the journey now
complete

Whit Howland © 2020

In a dream
I see

your tears dry up
the ones

that watered the flowers
in the window box

and happiness now
grows

on you like another
appendage

although I don't
think

your mind is the same
as it forms

yet a thicker
armor

so to speak

Whit Howland © 2020

hello
it's me again

with the same sad repartee
and refrain

we were somewhere
I swear

even if you thought it
was nowhere

and I'm sorry it's
always so gray and rainy

if we could just meet
one more time over

coffee and scones
I'm sure

it will all clear up
soon


Whit Howland © 2020

What I loved and what  I'll
miss

is the sloshing
and swimming of fish

in a tin can that lurches
back and forth and

northbound

with the din and
conversation

much like the friction
between

the wheels and the
track



Whit Howland © 2020

It's most liberating
knowing

I don't have to understand
the poem I

just have to connect with something
about it

whether I'm enchanted by
the imagery

or entranced by the
rhythm

the most effective poems
are those

that charm something
universal from my

earthen jar of a heart
that pulls

the rest of me
upward


Whit Howland © 2020

There's a water stain
or is it coffee

spilled on my life
like fingers

with blots of ink
at their tips

I've written and
rewritten

it many times
the story

gets more grand
as the room gets

smaller

Whit Howland © 2020

What I remember

most

was the glass globe

covering the pieces of bright
lemon pie

sitting on the teal green counter
long

before it was burned by
everyone's

cigarette

did we trade or did we
barter

Whit Howland © 2020

Focus on the comb
in a jar

suspended in icy
blue

gleaming chrome
red nogahyde chairs

and glinting silver
shears

she lives

he lives

I still live

for something that is ours
and only

ours


Whit Howland © 2020

I can write this one I
got this one

I know the guy quite well

smoke curls from his lips
the same ones that

blow

night after night

a dented horn
sunglasses

black suit
and funeral shoes

it seems I'm caught in a loop
hearing that same old

haunted refrain


Whit Howland © 2020

maybe a name for a man
who

like many others
is

a smudge of gray paint
in a ubiquitous landscape

and deserves a dozen
flowers

of his choosing

just for showing up
day after day

even on those
when all of his synapses

screamed at him
to hang up

the gloves

Whit Howland © 2020

Permit me to go
deep

because there is nowhere else to go

but to ponder the meaning
of silver

and the properties of
aluminum

and which metal is more precious
as well as

is value something that can be measured
or

is it all just conjecture like the best way
to crack an egg

Whit Howland © 2020

I think about you every day
and every day I see you

walk away

from me for the last time and our last words
phrases and sentences

for the life of both of us
I can't

even remember
because I just never thought I'd have to

much of what exists about you
for me

are feelings but what
I still see

when I close my eyes is your gleam
that would very rapidly spark

a flame of either playful derision
or best of all

mad inspiration

I miss you every day

but I have got to cut this one off
because

I'm out to get some lunch
so

if you'll excuse me



Whit Howland © 2020

This is not about distilling
an image

or capturing time
in an imaginary bottle

it's about seeing a world
wither away

before our very
eyes

and us being powerless
to stop it

Whit Howland © 2020

Like with fluorescent paint
I glopped on a title

Basic Transportation

feel free to sit in this one
kick its tires

scratches and dings
cracked windshield

engine running
rough

I swear I can fix all of that

I look at you
and I

in pictures
and sometimes marvel and

sometimes blanch
at our hair and what we're wearing

good memories for sure
mixed with a few that are bad

but never any regrets about the places
we've been

and there's much excitement
about the brightness of the light

that illuminates the path
forward

Whit Howland © 2020

I'm reading a book
on how to think

like Leonardo
Davinci

imagine something
so cold

it burns the mind

will turn this piece
of coal

into a diamond

Whit Howland © 2020

A small thing
oblong

in nature
and

just a trickle
down a pale cheek

but is it really
there

and if not

do we dry our eyes
at nothing


Whit Howland © 2020

Back then
we muled our heavy loads

in scuffed leather or floral print
valises

which weighed even heavier
on our hearts and minds

as opposed to nudging them along on
wobbly wheels

desperately hoping for that
sucker

PT Barnum so sincerely
promised us

Whit Howland © 2020

Yours and
unquestionably
mine

but as we watch
not

just sand but everything
of ours crushed

into a fine powder
sift

through glass

could yours
and mine

all have been a lie
if so

how were we to
know

Whit Howland © 2020

for the machine to
work

every cog must
turn

meshing

with other like-minded
wheels

and

ours is not to understand
ours

is to carry out simply
and efficiently

to survive

as we continue to

stand

Whit Howland © 2020

It's politeness
blocking

us from its core
and

preventing us from
pulling

the common thread
so the cloak

unravels
and

the more we tarry
or

dilly dally
the more complex

the thing grows
so for Pete sake

can we just skip

hello

Whit Howland © 2020

We can't

keep them straight
we

mean well but
in time

our hand
cramps and quivers

and

we do whatever
makes the discomfort

stop

hence the squiggle
the curve

or the corner
cut

Whit Howland © 2020

You call

I do not answer

a small voice a
cricket

somewhere in this tiny
room

I hurl everything
but the kitchen sink

it still calls


Whit Howland © 2020

we search
and search and

search

for a voice
anywhere

we can find it
be it

on billboard signs

advertising
aftershave

nursery rhymes
knock

knock jokes
we throw

spit wads
against the wall

hoping someone
will hear us

and that we are
distinct

Whit Howland © 2020

The mask is
plaster

with a face that
droops

and the one that laughs
drips

with joy
at the pain

and misery of the drooping
plaster

face

Whit Howland © 2020

he moves through
the mouse maze
with a neutral

expression
on his face
dodging

things that swing
punch and squirt
not

clumsily
nor effortlessly
but with average skill

and
at an average
speed

being just enough
of who he has to be
to keep

plodding along


Whit Howland © 2020

I have drawn no
conclusions

or lines

and one might
conclude

that this is
skullduggery

or outright theft

but for now
I can only know you

by speaking your words
even if I have to

steal them from your mouth
or

from the page

it was sunny today
almost muggy and warm

again
I'm pilfering

your moment

your thunder

and the description
of a place

that not I and only
you

have ever been

Whit Howland © 2020

they can pluck a poem
not from the blue

but purple heavens
with

their lofty words
and erudite thoughts

as if their heads
are already in the clouds

and mine is under
a pillow

or in a pewter dish
gnoshing on

plastic grapes
and apples

Whit Howland © 2020

Is it our eye
or

is the blue sky
much

bluer
through cheap

motel glass we
always

paint
the most beautiful pictures

of the things we never get
to have

and that I believe
is just another example

of how truly
beautiful

the mind really
is

Whit Howland © 2020

It's about being
ruthless

with the weeds
not much grass

anymore

these days I find
myself

on defense always blocking
life's punches

and attempting to level out  
the ubiquitous uneven cut

ready with eyes
darting

this way and that
watching

for the next battle
sight unseen

or dandelion

Whit Howland © 2020

If I had a pin I'd
poke your skin and

watch you flubber
and fly

across the room
until

you were a deflated
balloon

once full of futile human
wishes

Whit Howland © 2020

I'm here to bury
confusion

not to give it
voice

or a pulpit
from which to proselytize

we worship
truth

we practice
truth

we don't just spoon it
every now and then

into a cloudy cup
of coffee

Whit Howland © 2020

a pop
and a flash

the process is
fast

and nothing pretty
or fancy

the switch is flicked
the filament

glows
to a hot white

a birth

a light

an idea

prayers should always equal
action

Whit Howland © 2020

to some it's criminal
how I never

seem to learn
the lesson

you can try to knock some
sense

into my head
or knock me

off my heels

but I seem hard
to school and always

have a penchant for going
back

to what I know and
can do best

Whit Howland © 2020

It was once but
not now

my desire to drink
again

from a garden hose

the pages
glossy the book

a Sears catalogue
much more

gratifying
than gazing at the

night sky

Whit Howland © 2020

All those year ago and you can
still

remember the color
of

your shoes they were
a green

pair of Keds

and it's

blurry
but you can see

there was a parade

Whit Howland © 2020

we tune in we
dial

we dig on the radio
to catch

a sentimental
wistful wave

to 1964

or what ever your  
candy

or guilty pleasure
may be

Whit Howland © 2020

A stick poking
in a pond

creating a muddy
under water ruckus

against

a red and chrome
blender mixing

whipping
eggs

sugar

and flour
into a batter


Whit Howland © 2020

An art exhibit
for the mind

with
works inspired

by mostly those
with places to go

things to do
and people to see

but we're not losers
or misfits

we're here to put
voice

to their actions
and speak truth

to their power

Whit Howland © 2020

next to an ashtray
opened

with the cellophane
pulled back

and an off white
stick

pulled
like a finger

sorry
that's more than just a punchline

it's the beginning middle
and someday

the end of another

human comedy





Whit Howland © 2020

Almost a photo
as it looks so

real

you could easily write it off
with

a tautology

just choose one from
the list

but to do that
you'd have to ignore

the crinkles at its edges
quite

possibly from sweaty
palms

Whit Howland © 2020