Ten Years
went by so fast

an anniversary
hard fought

and won

right now I'm sitting
with you
at a sidewalk cafe

the Left Bank
Paris

a dog barks
and pigeons warble
and scramble for

scraps on the cobblestones

the sun shines

may it always do so

on us now
when we first met
and in the days weeks and years to come

© Whit Howland 2019

Rainy

again
and they're calling for more


and they say
it will be this way
all week

but like every other time
I will do my best
to beat back

the blue Monday

as well as continue
to try and keep

in front of the eightball

whit howland © 2021

Gas powered
music

to my ears

row after row
of tangled grass

cut

and gray branches
collected

and hauled away
one dump truck

at a time

To my ears go
your cute little snores

and to my eyes
your hair peeking out

from under the covers
I watch our cats(our kids)

eat from their labeled dishes
and I laugh

for hours

whit howland © 2021

outside is gray
and silent

with just a hint
of breeze

mixed with a faint
rumble

and my nose
is

ITCHY

Just a speck
amongst the big blue

with swirls

and I have concerns
about messaging

and what a guy
has to do to make his mark

Magic Scripto
or India Ink


what would you
suggest

Legal tender
coins banknotes

return to sender
address unknown

the expectation
of something great

my garbage
your gold

big league
raw deal

anticipation
moolah

your hell
my happy place

whit howland © 2021

As the tide goes out
uncovering

the sand bar path
to the light house

and children laugh
hurling

beach *****
and seaweed


as sandcastle after sand castle
gets trampled

it's one deafening
question

that I'll always
refuse to answer

would we have lost each other
in the hustle and shuffle

of family

Flowers
the purple ones
impatients

they didn't make it
the rain and all the watering
couldn't save them

this summer you
went away then returned
and I thought you were back

but then you left again

the flowers
the purple ones
impatients

all the rain
and all the watering
couldn't save them

whit howland © 2021

You speak to me
now
in apologetic verse

a lyric born
from
way beyond

your cadence

a bent soldier hunched
over cups
of scalding coffee

frosted donuts
sprinkled
with the shots

its very sepia
in its cinema
and

very
tormented
in its song


and yes
you’re still
alive still present

and yes
we're tethered
still forevermore

but no
we’ll never meet again
face to face

so let’s
just cling to what’s
concrete

the image

an orange
gritty
rise and shine


ordinary
though
resonant

with
a workmanlike
musicality


Whit Howland © 2019

It's nice here
above
the clouds
the fog

like a Bronx Cheer
the roar the din
lifts us
up

at this
height
we're clear
as a bell

instead
of a little
punch
drunk

whit howland © 2019

When every day's
a struggle

to keep your head
above water

may solace be found
in words so preciously

penned
by a printing press

with sprinkles
and milky images

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

Green red white
and blue big bulbed

Christmas lights
on a fake tree

it stopped being real
ages ago

and no net
as they swing
under a striped tent

grabbing reaching
for other trapezes
lifelines
       hanging
                swaying like knives

audience
breath baited
waiting for the big shoe to drop

it never does


Whit Howland © 2019

Sweeping gray
swirling white

windswept
water blotches


rivulets
rain drenched canvas

dreams left
unattended

now
a forgotten watercolor moment


Whit Howland © 2019

The most I can muster
is to exhume life
from a sentence

about death
and decay of the human spirit

pledging to myself
dear reader and
everyone else

to never let such
a blessed thing go
to neglect and

maintain my own
like a trusty automobile


Whit Howland © 2019

you’ll want more
you always do

but no poem
is ever perfect

like Christmas trees
on a lot

they’re either
too full on top

or
too slight below

and this poem is no exception
just the essence

of a loved
wooden hutch

with only traces
and outlines

of Nana’s
precious plates

saucers
and teacups

not enough
concrete  imagery

for critique
or analysis

but more than enough
for action

like maybe a phone call
to a mom or a dad

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

colors once bright
              now off
pale

one year
         and the paint
fades flakes

and the American Flag
            is  nearly washed away
by  snow rain dirt and dust

yet it waits
       patiently
for summer

and sun
      to summon
painters cleaners

the worker bees
      to scramble rally
around its cause

trust for you
     trust for me
trust we  can

still once more
     strike a match
ignite the torch

and keep it lit


Whit Howland © 2019

you say you
love me

and immediately
I look for strings

and a hand
up your back

Do I have
a one-track mind

I sit and watch
the wheelbarrow

fill to the brim
with

and I search and search
but I never seem to find

you or ever come close
to hitting that high note

Whit Howland © 2020

Crisp blue
that fades to white
meets
the brown of fields and hills

puffy
gray green
thickets
in the distance

windless
cold

the clock ticks
a crisp clip
daylight already fading



© Whit Howland 2019

Or one to pick
with myself

of how I wish
I'd done this

or that
and what I could've did

or what I should've did
but be grateful

for plain blessings

like how we don't get
the opportunities

in life
for those kinds of do-overs

because the biggest fear
is getting the smaller piece of bone

all over again

Rows of bright
red roses

violets tulips
or tomatoes turnips

and carrots
too

in brown loamy
soil

is there structure
or is it a pallet

of assorted
smudges

grays
or flash and colors

Giverny
or a Victory Garden

we are
what we cultivate

and what and who
we feed

whit howland © 2021

deep in the mountains
a small town

the smell
of evergreen

Mainstreet
a square

a geodesic dome
undulating

on a crisp
sunny day but

was I really there
or was I lost in thought

a conversation
endless and breathless

whit howland © 2021

Rest respite
or a place

to call your own
home

is where your head is
when it rains

stolen no found
art and truly

one to write about
a letter from the heart

life made plain
and simple

the big blue marble
flattened

with a wooden
rolling pin

and the earth now
on a cookie sheet

for all to see
eat and digest

Whit Howland © 2019

It's not that words
have failed

it's just
there are none

all dreams

crushed
like aluminum cans

Baby blue
navy

bisect
or intersect?

there's
a difference

and I have to
get it right

this time
time

fleeting
or flying?

the window's
open

and in my hand
is an alarm clock

with two ringing
bells

like vibrating
mouse ears

I'm thinking I will
just sail it through

and that should
solve everything

whit howland © 2021

Crisp
apple cider air

October
it's finally here

leaves
and other things

at the end
of their string

with acceptance
comes dignity

honor
and most surely

peace

whit howland © 2021

One might think
this is about

sweeping out the dusty corners
of my life

about letting go
of that pesky dream

of the bus I never seem
to catch

or the class I've been skipping
and failing

it's none of that
instead

it's a simple-minded
obsession

with cleaning agents
antisceptic soap bleach

strippers
floor wax and such

Whit Howland © 2020

Water water
everywhere?

Water
nowhere...

And nothing to drink
but liquid

as thick as molasses
and no relief...

After a  long slog
through the mud;

soon to be
cement...

I passed
gas a while back

it was an old Sinclair station
trapped

in a decade long gone

now I'm running on fumes

in the panhandle
a place where stumpy palm trees

line the on-ramps to highways
leading out of town

Destin Florida
Fort Walton Beach

you can see your future
from here

One of up on high
where I look down

and people cars and other
things

seem like plastic
figurines

and all that troubled me
now distant

or shall we say far
far away

whit howland © 2021

Bean bags tossed
two and fro

his hands are fast
this man

in his striped shirt
and black pants

literally

he juggles
while I struggle

to balance a marriage,
job

hopes and dreams
seemingly and somewhat absurdly

on the head of a pin

The temperature is rising
you give me fever

while bringing on thunder
flashes of lightning and rain

I credit that **** Dog Star
again

as well as a mad string
of bad luck

whit howland © 2021

The Moon glows
as the night ages

and I grow old
with it

eighteen wheelers
welcome

with parking
in front

forks bent
plates are chipped

the peg game's
missing a few pegs

and the eggs run
like the waitress's mascara

we stretch
we yawn
looking  out
at life so still
while
lazing
our way
through the day
then rising
eyes keen
ready
to wrestle
demons unseen

© Whit Howland 2019

Full Moon
lunar fever
why I write

pale light
bent through glass

spinning emotions
like a top

left you a message
hope you'll call

whit howland © 2019

Gleaming
pink and magnetic

we are drawn

to its  cold metallic
stature

it's the day

our Day the Earth
stood still

We're no longer young
or wet behind the years

are jokes are old
and they groan

like hunger pains
from someplace

down deep

but what is it
we hunger for

and will we find it
before it's time

to lay down
and go to sleep

Not a ginger snap
but with a bite just as sharp

how you doing

better than I should be

for some reason
I am feeling very chill

good music in my earbuds
will do that to me

everytime

Overtime
all absurdity and parody
turns to serious discourse

picture this

a red white
and blue box
with a boy on the front

in a sailor suit

but
he's not a ******* Jack
instead

he's a ******* ****

whit howland © 2021

and she assembles
a new Hoover  hand vacuum

that's not my grandmother's
or even my mother's

hand vacuum

it's futuristic body
resembles

a robot from a Fifties
sci-fi thriller and

while the hour is late
and as shadows dance on the water

I think

what a difference
a year makes

or a decade
and most of all

a century

Foamy Cola
and ice cream treats

complete
with a maraschino cherry

topped like an angel
on a Christmas Tree

and wedges of lemon meringue pie
under a glass dome

as red and silver stools
line a Formica counter

It starts with a dark and stormy
night

then you are everywhere
but nowhere

bus depot
airport train station

I suspect you are alone
I could be wrong but I know I'm not

if you can hear me
riddle me this

what do you call
an exploding monkey

a baboom

you are everywhere out there
somewhere

and I will keep sending up
flares

whit howland © 2021

Why didn’t we do this years ago
all that time now gone for good

it’s green it hangs
flaccid on a door jamb

it's beauty only apparent
in action and the act of shopping

and its fabric
rough to the touch though strong and trusty

but seriously why didn’t we do this years ago
all the time spent now dried up and blown away so

why didn’t we

flush out all the  purple and excess verbiage
and flense the fat and grizzle

my goodness

so many plastic bags
and not enough manure to fill them with

Whit Howland © 2019

not much for you
by way of kind words

but i have to say
i love the silver beads

of morning dew
on lawns

green  
with summer


Whit Howland © 2020