gray and beady-eyed
running along the base board
a morsel of cheese in it's mouth

or

is it a  plastic creature attached
to a cord
guiding you along a pixeled floor

which is it and why do we care

language
language
language

words
they mean things
significant things

whit howland © 2021

We sow it like the seeds
one would sow

if they were to grow
apple trees

but we do it to make
to make our lawns green

it seems we both want
the same thing

to run as fast as we can from barren land
and limp brown blades of grass

whit howland © 2021

We are

a silver hat,
or a silver shoe,

a still life
and one never fully realized

as we move around the board
so many times;

faces and names become
a blur.

"That was so long ago...

I barely remember yesterday"

she said.

whit howland © 2021

What is it about your shoes?

No matter how hard I try,
they never seem to fit.

Every time I attempt to be you,
I get lost

in an ocean of problems
with no solution...

Note to self:
must cancel out the noise,

and go my own way.

whit howland © 2021

You say I say
my wife

told me to stop
impersonating

a flamingo
I had to put my foot down

you see a sad face
but it's only a facade

I went shopping for some camouflage pants
but couldn't find any

the tears flow in puddles
but they are not that of a clown

why

you ask

because he already died
laughing

(rimshot)

the last time I heard that one
cars had fins

and scales

(honk honk}

I was wondering why the frisbee
kept getting bigger and bigger

and then it hit me
I keep staring at the phone

hoping you will call
and explain why you left

all those years ago

whit howland © 2021

Your eyes are the color
of old copper

brown
with a tint of light green

you are amongst many
shiny pennies in the jar

and the mirror
does not lie

whit howland © 2021

bloodless knuckles
as we grip the sides

a clanky chain
pulling us to the precipice

the drop

stomachs to our knees
and me and my brother

knowing we will never
live this day again

the memory placed
on the spindle with the rest

much like you and me
and Paris

with tearstained
napkins

whit howland © 2021

It's what it's not

your last nerve
frayed

or  your life like a baby tooth
hanging by a thread

or the train wreck or
the accident on the highway

you cannot
look away from

and it is not and never will be
staring into the abyss

with no light
at the end of the tunnel

whit howland © 2021

And with skies
the color of stainless steel
you confound me

hot

then cold then hot
again

blooming pink flowers
with snow falling and sticking
to the grass

streets now slick
with ice
and tomorrow ice

melting
in the sun

maybe

and with the skies
the color of stainless steel
you still confound me

whit howland © 2021

This melancholic music
in a twelve-bar sequence

my baby left town
and left me nothing
but my sneakers and her wedding gown

this melancholic music
in a twelve-bar sequence

my cat is scratching  at my bedroom door
I can't give her any more
than I gave her last night or before

this melancholic music
in a twelve-bar sequence

whit howland © 2021

a fleshy formless blob
pickled in plasma
under glass

I've long ago stopped wondering
where the time went
stopped

planning
dreaming
stopped

things meant to come will come
things meant to be
will be

stopped

a fleshy formless blob
pickled in plasma
under glass

whit howland © 2021

dry clean only

pigtails
in an inkwell

baptism
sacrament

see label for care

sing
"Shove it"

purify
ritual purification

use bleach
rinse and repeat

wasted on Saturday
Sunday we pray

flagellation

free from sin

the pulley squeaks
as we  take the clean clothes off the line

whit howland © 2021

We say we don't
but we do

things don't just fall from the sky
but they do

suction
the production

of a partial vacuum
by the removal of air in order to force

fluid into a vacant space
or procure adhesion

that night those things you said
where did they come from

whit howland © 2021

Without it
we are pedestrians

at a crosswalk with a redlight
that never changes

awash in petty laws
and ordinances

always afraid to risk
the tightrope of absurdity

but with it
the sky's the limit

and we can shed things
like old and tired cliches

the way we do clothes
that have long gone out of fashion

whit howland © 2021

stark

raw

naked lunch

loss

just words

they stare at me
every day

and I am still here
but you are gone

yet you are everywhere
now a conundrum

a Gordian Knot

whit howland © 2021

A wind-up
tin soldier
walks across

the table stopped
only
by a jar of marbles

some clear some
opaque
some milky white

we can't change it
but perhaps we can
sweep it up

(but not under the rug)

tomorrow
will be a very
special day

whit howland © 2021

Thick nimbus clouds
against patches of white sky

more rain maybe
but either way gray

a bright red rubber ball
rolls down the street

still slick
from last night's storm

makes me think
of Superman's boots

our yard looks like
a lake

no matter how hard I try
I can't keep the basement from flooding

whit howland © 2021

You say it's late
maybe too late

to save this and you add
it's a sinking ship

and that there was never
any luster

or gild on the lily
so what do I say

AHH

it's what I ask that's the real
kicker

how does a ship sink
when it's never left the bottle

whit howland © 2021

A plate of milk curds
sweetened

and served with fruit
at yours and my expense

but what is the cost
of this journey

though delectable

some say is dicey
and existential

at best

whit howland © 2021

Short and heavy
it soars through the air

or does it slide into
the lock

it's what you do to me
crossing my wires

one minute I want to fly
be free

and the next
I want to slide in and lock this

us

up forever

whit howland © 2021

A hazy day in summer
with cicadas
buzzing

we swing

on an old tire
slung over a tree branch
getting lost in an afternoon

so long ago

whit howland © 2021

Not half full
but cheap

in fact
so cheap

it wouldn't even make
a sound

when it shattered

smudges
grudges

daily drudgery

and spots
lots of spots

whit howland © 2021

The sun beats down on the street
like a rented mule

not even a stormy Monday
for me

just hot
and getting hotter

maybe I'll thank you
somewhere down the road

but right now

the sun beats down on the street
like a rented mule

whit howland © 2021

rubber souls
frayed laces
and a hole in the toe

a whiff of sock
was enough for you

get to stepping
you said

and stepping I did

whit howland © 2021

Red
and festive

yep that's me
and it is all because of you

top of the world
or

at the very least
atop a  roof

as a weathervane

whit howland © 2021

A full moon shines though
a louvered window

as I eat ice cream
over the sink

while thinking about
the many times

I've been burned when someone
has told me

IT

tastes like chicken
fried or otherwise

whit howland © 2021

A handheld bakelite
transistor radio

cream colored
the music coming through

on a small speaker
yes

that's the first time
I heard it

where is she now
does she still know who I am

sometimes goodbye
does mean forever

whit howland © 2021

fast-moving train
leaving on a jet plane

don't know
but I do

a magic afternoon
Almost Heaven

I said I'd be home
by seven

I let you down
I know

it was never
my intention

whit howland © 2021

Bubbles
run up the sides
of the polished
green glass

and another pressed record drops
as the diamond needle
scratches
across its surface

music to our ears

that if we allow it
will find its way
to our hearts and fill our heads
with delectable food for thought

whit howland © 2021

Chicken Soup
for the Soul

why

who knew the Soul
had a cold

I guess that explains
all those aches and pains

it was you it
always has been you

tugging
at my heartstrings

is if I were a violin bass
or steel guitar

whit howland © 2021

Still water runs deep
sitting here on top
of this hill

what are you
thinking

not really thinking
as much as crying
over spilled milk

whit howland © 2021

glossy
and mostly
sepia-toned

and now more
then a touch of gray
as we grow old

so much stuff
has happened along
the way

the smell of burnt hair
on a curling iron
still lingers in the hall

you sleep and snore
in the room
next door

and I'm grateful
for the two times
I got smart in our lives

plip plop
ploppitty
plop

the late
March rain
taps against our roof

whit howland © 2021

Not fit for a feast
just a functional meal

the glint lost long ago
now dull stainless steel

where refueling
is the aim

for a nameless cog
in the machine

that runs so quiet
and smoothly


whit howland © 2021

I have to strain
to remember what
your voice still sounds like

your tone your cadence

I figure
if I dig around on the dial
for a little while

it will come through
scratchy

at best

whit howland © 2021

A clown's makeup
cascading down his face
under a hot spotlight

your call so long ago
a Dear John Letter
mostly in audio

a broken vase
with its ceramic pieces
fanned out across the floor

thumbing through
a high school yearbook
and a picture of me and you

no logic no rhyme
no major scoop
to stop the presses

life
just goes on
in one eternal loop

whit howland © 2021

Let's not assume
this to be about
exposing the truth

and how the naked light
makes the roaches
scatter

we're talking about
quotidian madness
and how one can float above it

and remain detached
and simplify the confusion
and complete the task

whit howland © 2021

No bright green trees
no description of the sun

no turn of phrase about sadness
or a melancholy mood

sorry

just rude granite
and colored geegaws

that resemble outcroppings
and stones

there for you
and only you

because in the end
it always is and always will be

all

you

whit howland © 2021

I could kid myself
and say that you are in me
but really

I am just trying
to force the issue by attempting
to conjure you

as well as delay the inevitable  

waterworks the aching
sickness
and the pain

so with that said
it is time to give you
and me the much needed

punctuation
we deserve
and just

end this!

whit howland © 2021

The bristles
on my toothbrush

are ragged
and that's a fact

as well as my chipped tooth
that sometimes slices

my tongue

whit howland © 2021

red

delectable
plump

augmented with a swirl
of whip cream


and life clicks by
like a carousel

way too fast

whit howland © 2021

drops of rain on the roof
sound like the pitter-patter

of little feet

you say there's water
collecting in the backyard

and we might need a French Drain
I say baby

we made it

whit howland © 2021

Something to remind me
of you

a bottle blue
that just sits
on the kitchen counter

I never touch the stuff
it could never do the things
that you used to do to me

whit howland © 2021

What is life
but one I never
knew

without
a stray bolt
or ball bearing

rattling
around
inside my head

whit howland © 2021

This poem
is about

a rouge
blushy
flushed
sunrise

and lots
of red
lipstick

and no cigarettes left
in the last
cigarette machine

known to

woman


it's six am
and yes

I am wide
awake

whit howland © 2021

In the morning I wake
to the beginnings
of a mid to late
March day

and that morning
muted like a trumpet
is sepia with snares and cymbals
coloring

the seconds
the minutes
the hours
with an improvisational crayon


whit howland © 2021

To God
only known
we are

unknown
to everyone else

you are seeing
what  no one else
can view

thus

you now know
what he can only
know

sublime

whit howland © 2021

silver tin can
on thick

rubber wheels
frayed velvet seats

raw deal
memories

regrets
are plenty

nowhere
to go no sense

of place
or belonging

whit howland © 2021

A moon not pale
but robust

or

dare I say
voluptuous

it's still snowy
in Wintertime

through this mountain
pass

so long ago

and I'm still crying
over spilled milk

whit howland © 2021

Slithering
gummy worms

a cricket
with a bad case
of the sniffles

and not a swatch
of tissue in sight

a marvelous tin windup
robot that squawks
DANGER

so loud it'll power wash the freckles
off your face

bubbly brown-colored soda
in a sweating glass
no

not a frosty mug
that says Pepsi

COKE

because
things always go better
with Coke


whit howland © 2021

Where are we going
nowhere it seems

brown foam pouring
over the glass

a scoop of vanilla
slowly turning

to ice

as cream
mixes with soda

a rhyme without a reason
or perhaps no rhyme at all

shape form
or resolution

a treat

maybe egress
an exit

an escape?

whit howland © 2021