I woke up
and

saw my face
kaleidascoped

in a mirror

and asked myself

what's missing

several things
came

to me

on wings
of something other

than


Whit Howland © 2020

It's hard to top
a day in early spring

when I can smell
the crisp air sandwiched
in between

warm
and cold

hear again
the symphony of birds

and see the color return
to my mother's pale face

Whit Howland © 2020

Plastic axles
connect
to plastic wheels
then the chassis
and last
but not least
comes the body
then finally
the paint and detail

life
model
a poem

written to scale

Whit Howland © 2020

Action

though footfalls might be
silent

if prayers are
palpable

the gospel crashes like
a cymbal

Whit Howland © 2020

Except for the
wind

creaking
the hinges

of the door

there is silence

but I can hear

and I feel closer to you
now

your hand
is no longer

ghostly
and invisible

Whit Howland © 2020

At it night it
moves

in silence

leaping
tall buildings

past
the weak

light of street lamps

faster
than
the
speed

of a thought

Whit Howland © 2020

Me
where I am

where did I go
what did I do

but I cannot  say
and not

because I'm mute

I guess I'm just an artist
and one who values words

plus the lighting
the perspective

although
it could also be the timing

but most of all it's the correct
paint

Whit Howland © 2020

it's the texture
we need

something less
course

and
abrasive

more soft
and velvety

to the touch

sentences
and if necessary

paragraphs

can  still be short
and quipped

but polish them
into

the smooth and
colorful

stones
we know

they can be

Whit Howland © 2020

They're just
decor

copper coffee
tins

more cans
hanging

from hob
nails

over the stove
***** reminders

of the front porch light
still

bright
after all these years

Whit Howland © 2020

I picture more of an
eye

though I do
like seeing it as

spaces
between

the arms of
calamity

the calm is never
before or after

it's always in

Whit Howland © 2020

We can't bring it back

can we

I know I've asked this
before

it's a  nagging question

that like a hamster
goes round and round
on an exercise wheel

and it's caused by
knowing
that what we had

we now love miss
and don't have  
anymore

though simple math
it's no less frustrating

Whit Howland © 2020

The flashing
red

amber and
green

the visceral
images language

and poetry
of those

who move and
shake

with places to go
things to do

and people to
see


Whit Howland © 2020

to say I'm grateful
would be an
understatement

I've seen my life
three times

carved in three
different
versions

on three panels
I love you

honey

I'm a man kissed by
fortune

Whit Howland © 2020

He's there
just like he's
here

and everywhere
we need him
to be

in a form open to
interpretation

mixed with much
creativity
and imagination

Whit Howland © 2020