Silver never seemed so close

those quarters
filched from my pocket
by Tahoe's
invisible hand

but at 13
a baker's dozen
from repeated dives
I found out otherwise

water clear
aquamarine and shallow
near the dock I was fishing off

yet so cold it almost choked me out
I had to let the quarters go

like Uzzah knows and
I once said

the world speaks

sometimes it says BLANK OFF

put down your cameras  put down your pens
for the love of God no pictures and
most definitely

no poems

whit howland © 2019

On the shelves they sit
this way and that

an untidy mass

some discernable
others abstract

conversations
with myself

or those
who are no longer here

cup a stein
a mug

a ballerina
folded hands

things to see things
to feed

our desire
to know more see more

metal army men
a die-cast VW Van

a dime a dozen a blessing
in disguise

a spacesuit
doll clothes

"Beware of looking for goals;
look for a way of life."

a cupie doll a shrunken
head

as someone once said

we are the things we gather
or in some cases

scatter

whit howland © 2021

Elegant yellow lights
twinkling

chrome
and whitewall tires

velvet ropes
and bellhops

gold carpets
crystal chandeliers

and runners

we've come so far
and yet

at the same time
we've been going in circles

Like beginnings
endings are just as hard

knowing what
is finished looks

like nothing
you started out with

so many twists
turns and evolutions
along the way

© Whit Howland 2019

Bubbly soda
fizzing
to the top
and up over the lip

of the glass

so much poured in
and so much gushing
forth

but

why stop there
why let this just float off

into the beyond or the

ether

whit howland © 2021

Ships
or ships in a bottle

if the latter
however  would we pass

each other in the night
perhaps

or maybe

we were meant to sidestep
completely

that worn-out
cliche

and be destined
for better things

indeed

A hand painted
still life

of the Munger Moss Motel
Lebanon Missouri

red doors in a neat row
with vintage cars

parked out front

off to the side
is the turquoise slide

that plummeted guests
into the baby blue

of the pool

flip it over
and there are turkey tracks

on the back
where the ink is smudged

in spots

with
only the brevity

MISS YOU!

readable
in big caps with exclamation point

and I miss you
already

like I miss my brother
mother

and everything else
I can only see when

I close my eyes
at night

It doesn't take much
to escape

a black suited
thin tied piano man

his jazz hands
pressing on the keys

and blue swirling smoke
as if someone rubbed a Genie's lamp

but the second question
though

just as simple

has no easy answer

where
do you want to escape to

corollary to that

what if you can't
come back

© Whit Howland 2019

The pallet and paints
that came

out of nowhere
may have been freaky

Was it an accident?

could be
could be not

YOU ARE THE JUDGE
YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN

THE JUDGE

But what came after the paints
brushes, easel, and canvas

Was  The cornucopia

The repository
argosy

The treasure trove
That was

THE BOMB

an explosion of poetic
colors

red orange greens
Like a candy flake daydream

Of lush beuaty and Art

And art is truth, and truth comes
from the heart

And it's the heart
That gives your truth

its power

Coupled and pressed
against the curves of a classic car
they lean

young lovers

with the art deco chrome
of the Chrysler building
at its core

a retro
New York skyline behind
unfurled

further paints the scene
to make these two
lost in love

and of their time yet timeless

© Whit Howland 2019

We celebrate
our separation

from the mother ship
our first

independent breath
we are the seed

in pickled in animation
soon to have

dangling roots

whit howland © 2021

A scribble
doodle

of a lollipop tree
or thingamabob

on a paper napkin
that might've been

used for

a ketchup stain
lipstick print

or a drop of running
mascara

why am I
here

it's definitely
not for the eggs

and steak
they call Moo and Peep

and it's not to feed
the soul

but it's definitely for the vats
and vats of sizzling oil

greasing the gears
spinning my wheels

the world's waiting
to give you

the brass ring
will you be ready to grab it

Cracked and gray
with green blight on the spokes

it leans against a tree
the one where I carved you and me
into the bark

it's purpose

plain and simple

to remind us that once
we were something

for such a short
brief while

A blast of the whistle
and a slide down the dinosaur

it's quitting time

for life to  begin
again

on a cocktail napkin
in smudged felt tip

how much what
do I have to do

I dig and I dig
so deep

and if I reached China
would my efforts be

rewarded

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

Lines of pepper
lines of salt

with cream sugar
and by design

a happy face

it's just what the doctor ordered
as well as getting lost in coffee

and the pulpy verse of Beetle Baily
Funky Winkerbean and other funnies


Whit Howland © 2020

a light
quick
burst

metallic and shiny
purple flesh tones
corncob pipe

bubbles
rising
fizzing

so so much fun
but
so so short

whit howland © 2021

the crack that started
as a chip
is fast running
up the side

and there's a rattle
in the hub cap
like a ball bearing
going round and round

good problems
so they say

whit howland © 2021

Steam rises
from a sweetened

deal

and a once
bitter cup of coffee

now swirling
with Dorsett cream

we (you and I)

are talking about
coffee

we swear

it's so delicious
or shall we say

delectable

whit howland © 2020

Pop crackle flash
white red and blue
flowering

glimpses of liberta

and anxious
fresh-faced youth

with only dreams  
about the future

© Whit Howland 2019

A gray wet plume
rising

from the bottom of  black
cast iron

blowing off steam

releasing pent up
and strong emotions

and yet
we are still called human

as we continue to be such
marvelous machines

Whit Howland © 2020

It rained last night

and the flood waters
washed away

a pair of kids
red rubber boots

a four square ball
and a lecture

no one needs to hear

With a drab
gray
wooden handle

it leans
next to a scuffed
blue dust pan

not to sweep things
under a rug

both have another
albeit
plain function

sweep up dust

both saw and plaster

Whit Howland © 2020

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

Messages
of common sense

coupled with dimestore
philosophy

slipped neatly
into sugary wafers

while the Great Wall
in faded gloss

exists far across
the dining room

in the beginning
there was light

albeit pale

and our mouths watered
but what we came for

never really transpired
and we left

wanting more

of what we do not
know

Damage or
enlightenment

depends
on how you parse it

it was done
the work the deed

I could not go back
the food

the thought
the song

too sweet

Whit Howland © 2019

Orange
reflecting
channel
markers

making
passage
one way
and

dependent
on men
to wave us
on

and yet this
is where
the road
diverges

literal
and symbolic
is
the fork

it's hot today
so right now
well travelled
looks pretty good

to me
so so sorry
frost
and W.D.

Again
I'm making this

a federal production
about

a bowl of silver
apples

and how these pewter
pieces of fruit

that if I'm not careful
can become

the cold and scary
central characters

all their own
in what is supposed to be

my  life

Whit Howland © 2020

Ever since
the flashing red light

we've been caught
in a loop

of tag
and no tag backs

a current in the sea
of humanity

that pulls us farther
and farther

away
from the shore

white and deep water blue
symbolic of swell and ocean spray

and the colors loom
almost like they're crashing to the shore

I never  meant for you
to challenge nature or tempt the sea

run boy
as fast as you can

toward the light
or find a door

Whit Howland © 2019

it seems
I’m caught
in a funny place

I want to paint
a picture with words
but all that comes to mind

are quick thoughts
the kind you jot
on scratch pads and post-it notes

and the best I can do for and image
is one of a Sax
not brass colored mind you

more brushed - nickel
that’s used
for a bathroom faucet

and blowing into its reed
is like turning the ****
hot or cold

instead of water gushing
from the spigot
seedy cocktail jazz fills the basin

until it overflows
spilling onto the floor
then it seeps through the ceiling

flooding all levels of the house
I’ve been there before
and there are water stains to prove it

Whit Howland © 2019

never having to say
you're sorry

but I am
regrets

they hang on me
like tinsel

What's to fear about

a memory of a lazy
summer day

laying on a patch
of lush green grass

staring at a benevolent
kingly blue sky with a firm
but gentle sun

that suddenly
is drawn on
with frosty contrails
of  a jet with a silent
calm and steady hand



Whit Howland © 2019

A weeping willow
weeps for me

it wipes the ground
and washes my feet

a canary sings a chirpy
little tune

that might be melancholy
if I let it

but time is too short
it was the last thing

you had to teach
me

never

never

we are never off
the clock

always

in a race against time
on a  hamster wheel

that and along with other
absurdities

gets stitched together
to make life's quilt

that was never

never
and I mean never

supposed to make
any sense

gray streaks
mixed with rusty brown

on a stretched canvas
tacked on a plaster wall

cash
on the barrel

and it's yours

at odds
the agreement

you got me for cheap
the dotted line

where I signed
I must have been sleeping

whit howland © 2021

but that photograph
and how it now fades

and how that shirt I am
wearing

just one day
up and fell apart

whit howland © 2021

sunset never fades
until a new

orange brighter dawn
takes its place

and sea gulls caw
in between

the perfect tempo
of the waves

that sun bronzed
surfers carve

as they ride poetically
to shore

and its all here
in images restored

with words and music
never more

visceral and true

Whit Howland © 2019

I'll see
your edges of memory
with again
my carousel of slides
clicking by
so fast
on a white screen
and like you
I'm old enough
now to ask
were we ever
really there


© Whit Howland 2019

Unexpected
not something expected

and I would add to that
unplanned

my title
and good name

are all that I have
you have

let the images
play out in your mind

whit howland © 2021

Mood swings
no

see saws
maybe

but definitely
not monkey bars

and what does it matter
anyway

you don't write
or call

I get it though

you're too busy
but aren't we all

Left a year's
worth of rubber
five miles back

somewhere
in Oklahoma
and the sky is now orange

glowing like a long
freshly lit
cigarette

angel
or devil on my shoulder
God only knows

blue VW bug with
a tiny dent in the front fender
starting to rust

the scrapbook
on your front seat
and some canceled checks

fanned out
like a poker hand
I followed you

chased you
maybe stalked you
over hill over dale

not because
I was crazy
in a bad way

it was because
in those days
love didn't come so easily for me

until I learned
the rules of the game
those being very simple

love
is no game at all
it is serious business

whit howland © 2021

Flameless
more like angry slashes

black and red
xs and crosses

the rest is
scattered flecks of paint

question
what is fire and do I feel it

now
when and where it counts

somewhere deep
beyond the soul

I'm searching in you
dear artist

for a poem
or at least a spark of one

and like you
it's not about the flames

eternal
or otherwise

Whit Howland © 2019

as summer
lopes
with days
more doggy
than ever

it seems
keen sight
has given way

to acute hearing
of things

like a clock ticking
and putting down

bottom
to the soundtrack
of my life

and when i hear
my cat's meow
and see the red

yellow green
pop and flash
behind my eyes

outstanding

I tell him
as he limps
on his clubfoot

by me
into the haze
of this magic afternoon

Whit Howland © 2020

6 am
and my head feels like it was used
as a snare drum

or maybe

it throbs
because of that avocado
green refrigerator

that thing
I was chasing in my dream
dropped on me

from up high
on a towering cliff
as it blew a raspberry

and sped off

what once was brown
with hairs and crawled on the ground

became

not before our very eyes
but

when we were not looking
a kaleidoscopic

butterfly

things don't change
they just evolve into

what they already
were becoming

whit howland © 2021

We stand
under a blood orange sunset

to watch day after day
fade into night

I've been a lot of things to you
I never meant to be

so if you just settled on me
all those years ago

that's okay

We are always out of time
as we drive by

running from our own trolls
and demons

to stop and see
what animatronic terrors

await us