That slatted promenade
the paper ducks the
shooting gallery

and the spools
upon spools
of cotton candy

was it Santa Cruz
or Atlantic City

it was so foggy then
it's foggy now

and much has happened
with you and I
along this stroll

up hills
through valleys
and everywhere in between

but if there's been one constant

it's how tightly we clasped
each other's hands
so hard and earnest

that our wedding bands
stamped our skin
like we were certified and registered mail

Whit Howland © 2020

Life is not a teacher
   more, a teaser

I am wary of people
          who claim to have knowledge
           they talk and boast to no end
           they put your nerves on edge

you say the things
i want to say

but lack the mustard
to voice

we are guided by crazy trumpet
playing

there's a method
but

even if it's deceptive
does that mean

there's
no madness

Whit Howland © 2020

Somewhere ahead on the narrow road,
beyond the turquoise sky;
I see the brightness gleaming,
above the hills so high.

This vision leaps as in a dream,
and swirls around in space;
Quivering with such intensity,
it resembles a spiritual place.

The Lord has a way of showing us,,
that He's the one we seek;
And walking alone in this quiet town,
I seemed very small and meek.

My eyes were strained and red with dust,
from the dirt along the road;
The river rose in awesome stillness,
while the trees swayed to and fro.

One ray of light a fortune provides,
for those who search for peace;
And faith lies within our restful souls,
with a hopeful spirit of release.

Change takes time yet we all know,
that inner sense of sight;
Can truly match the colors which,
bounce from the prism of light.

Water always finds a way in.
The rain comes down,
the snow melts,
and the water finds the path
of least resistance.

Seeps into the cracks,
creeps under the shingles,
winds its way
through the areas left vulnerable
from years of slow erosion,
weakened integrity,
avoidance,
neglect of upkeep.
It begins to leak inside,
to create havoc,
to damage what should be kept
safe and dry.

Drops become trickles,
trickles become streams,
streams become rivers,
pools begin to form,
until the weight of itself forces advancement.
Pushing to find another route,
another way in.

Water persists.
Water permeates.

Water, like feelings of inadequacy,
always finds a way inside.