rubber souls
frayed laces
and a hole in the toe

a whiff of sock
was enough for you

get to stepping
you said

and stepping I did

whit howland © 2021

Red
and festive

yep that's me
and it is all because of you

top of the world
or

at the very least
atop a  roof

as a weathervane

whit howland © 2021

A full moon shines though
a louvered window

as I eat ice cream
over the sink

while thinking about
the many times

I've been burned when someone
has told me

IT

tastes like chicken
fried or otherwise

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

fast-moving train
leaving on a jet plane

don't know
but I do

a magic afternoon
Almost Heaven

I said I'd be home
by seven

I let you down
I know

it was never
my intention

whit howland © 2021

Bubbles
run up the sides
of the polished
green glass

and another pressed record drops
as the diamond needle
scratches
across its surface

music to our ears

that if we allow it
will find its way
to our hearts and fill our heads
with delectable food for thought

whit howland © 2021

Chicken Soup
for the Soul

why

who knew the Soul
had a cold

I guess that explains
all those aches and pains

it was you it
always has been you

tugging
at my heartstrings

is if I were a violin bass
or steel guitar

whit howland © 2021

Still water runs deep
sitting here on top
of this hill

what are you
thinking

not really thinking
as much as crying
over spilled milk

whit howland © 2021

glossy
and mostly
sepia-toned

and now more
then a touch of gray
as we grow old

so much stuff
has happened along
the way

the smell of burnt hair
on a curling iron
still lingers in the hall

you sleep and snore
in the room
next door

and I'm grateful
for the two times
I got smart in our lives

plip plop
ploppitty
plop

the late
March rain
taps against our roof

whit howland © 2021

Not fit for a feast
just a functional meal

the glint lost long ago
now dull stainless steel

where refueling
is the aim

for a nameless cog
in the machine

that runs so quiet
and smoothly


whit howland © 2021