i just wanted you to know
that I've been reading your poems
your stories
your heart
and I too
bleed for these words
like you
and I hope
you read mine too
when your heart
seek for words

Go to a party with you friends
I’ll stay in and write poetry
Come home and tell me stories
I’ll have more to write about in the morning.

Truth was a breath
of cold November air
Escaping from her soft lips
Truth was warm
a breath of purpose
A spoken word
Tasting sweet nuance
A fresh, crisp blow
of season's new flair
Something so subtle
yet undoubtedly alive.

You're telling me
You're the glacier
And the mountain range.

Your molten core is burning,
Your walls are echoing,
And the river is crying out.

This was indeed
A big elephant all along.

Do not speak of the lice
Or the mice,
Don't wanna hear a thing
There is a world in me.

And I know you know it well.

Our teachers sit pressed
against a cinder block wall
a couple of miles into their fifties

they look much older than that
as their faces crinkle like worn leather
puffing on Newports and Kools

life was much harder then

they watch us
run on the playing field
in our tough skins and smocks

our wise little adult faces scream and laugh
we're playing kissing bugs

we were much more innocent back then

as we cart wheel and crab roll in the dirt
staining our pant legs bruising our elbows
and skinning our knees

we were much tougher back then

we look back at our teachers
and then beyond the cyclone fence


© Whit Howland 2019

So Her words
There nothing to me
Nothing Always
Nothing
Sliding nothing to me
Always nothing to me
And I bridge it
There nothing to me

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Peter Lim <[email protected]>
11:06 AM (6 minutes ago)

to me




     I had no quarrel with time
     but it looks askance
     as though saying too long
     I have been around
     or worse--that something wrong
     I have done--

     the sentinel eternal
     the judge inimical
     the party unfaithful
     the heart unsentimental

     but
     I'll not be cowed
     to myself I belong
     if life is a battlefield
     I would be my own general

      winter chills in season
      unforgivingly
     but my heart
     shall not be frozen
     man shall never
     be smaller than fate
     there's no glory
     in out--living
     if with meaning
     I have lived

     life's chaos and angst
     has not diminished me
     I have stood up
     with dignity
    
     in my nameless humility
     and my naked humanity
     I am content  
     and joyful
     ( despair and regret
      set aside)
     with what remnant
     to me
     has been given.

Most days, I want to get away.
Most day I do not know what to say.
Still, I try.
Sometimes I even
do too much.
The line is always blurred to me.
Maybe that is why I am always
crossing it.
I respect people's boundaries.
The biggest problem;
I do not respect my own.
I give,
a lot.
There are some pieces of me
I will never get back.
They say you live and you learn.
I would like to say that the lessons are
sticking.
And as that big hand keeps on
ticking-

I realize that there is,

still,


so much time.