Sunday, October 29, 2017

Willing Myself to Remember



drunk with freedom,
an afternoon takes on
opaque colors

i wander streets, mumbling
unknown addresses
to vacant hours

in search
of a memory
marked in sepia wash


All rights reserved/copyright Audrey Howitt 2017

Posted for Poets United

Sunday, October 22, 2017

Confessions


Morgue File
froggidonna



when she bared her soul it was too late
her words slack in the wind
eyes rimmed in red

her nails hung to dry
blistering on bent nails
in aged sun

when she swore allegiance
it was only to tiny gods

the ones whose noses she had wiped
at noon
the ones whose hair she had braided
at dusk

her words litter hallways
never swept
her heart
a welcome mat



copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt

Posted for Poets United Pantry


Note: I am not sure where this one came from or what it really means yet--it feels unfinished, but not sure where to take it just yet

Sunday, October 8, 2017

Learning Braille









MorgueFile
lauramusikanski



stillness hangs taut
like stories embroidered
on monk's cloth

its weave loose
until my needle jabs through

i know each thread

colors carefully chosen,
shelf paper
for naked cupboards 

smiling crookedly at the oddities
that floss has created

i lay my fingers
on top
and read
each tale

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017

Posted for Poets United

Sunday, September 10, 2017

The Function of Mud



MorgueFile
kconners



i stand in the middle of the floor
toes pointing north
heart pulling west
toward the dirt and moss
where you lie

my feet can't move
they have forgotten how

i would bury them with you
so you could teach them
right from left,
teach my heart to beat again

instead, i stuff dirt into my mouth
swallow its grit
feel it follow veins

i am a golem
in the dark

but only until the next tear
falls
turning my feet to mud


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017

posted for Poets   and for dVerse

Thursday, August 17, 2017

The Price of Gold





Flame Artwork by Audrey Howitt



on the advice of counsel
he threads lies with metallic colors
twisting them into Gordian knots of deceit
to make them more attractive
to starved eyes.

he sits on glittering mountains
counts gold
with sinful fingers, as he
pulls himself up to view the horizon
eyes shaded against the pale light.

overcome by his own beauty,
he fails to see
anything.

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017







Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Fragile Lives



i sit, cracks iridescent
in blues and greens,
the color of the ocean,
of the sky on a clear day.

the softness of my sadness
has filled each crack slowly
time's trowel
busy with the memory's putty

i trace each line
replete,
as i am reshaped.

i am fine with that

after all,
i love blue and green.



copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017


Note: Kintsugi (golden joinery), also known as Kintsukuroi (golden repair) is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum to highlight imperfections.(Wikipedia)

Sunday, July 30, 2017

Sasha

Sasha


some losses are boats

built of unknown timber
they float between piers
unmoored

i wrestle with their gunnels
feel the nature
of the woods used
for hull and rail
which separate me from
water's long, hard swallow

i trace whorls
sanded and varnished
smoothed by long fingers

i hug myself hard
on salty air
hold fast
and remember to breathe

copyright/all rights reserved 2017


We had to say good bye to my darling girl two weeks ago.  I am a bit adrift.

Sunday, May 28, 2017

Patience Frayed



MorgueFile
by Galina Gorlova

words fail
their tricks
subtly fraying
the edges of patience
until all i have left
is silence


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017

posted for Poets United

after a dry spell. I did NaPoWriMo elsewhere than my blog--and wrote nothing at all for days afterward--

Friday, March 31, 2017

No Yams For me Please




i knew her when the years had rubbed the edges
              off her hunger
              off her fear

she was able to leave
a bit on a plate at dinner
         then

though she still felt
the need
to push it in her mouth

sidelong looks
at a piece of pork
left near the edge
             a taunt
                or a game

but there were months,
years ago
when she eagerly
pushed aside a corpse
or       two
to get to the yams underneath

she knew they were there
death's stench
only an
       obstacle.

copyright Audrey Howitt 2017

Process Note: I should probably change the title of this piece to Refugee's Tales or something along this line--this is a true person and this was her history during the Second World War--I wrote this piece originally as Trump's first Muslim ban came out--

Posted today for Poet's United and for Dverse







Tuesday, March 21, 2017

The Ferocity of Weeds



weeds bloom.

their ferocity pushes tiny heads up
next to the lettuces,
their heads so alike
that discernment
is discretionary,

an ambulatory experience
of chance.

Sunday, March 5, 2017

The Sky At Fourteen



standing, with knees dimpled,
she watches the sky turn.
its colors, impermanent;

yellows and browns
fill her mouth
as the sky staples itself to her tongue
and whispers into her ears,
silken threads, lay down its symbols.

in the distance,
clouds rob the horizon of trees,
pocket them
into snow's cotton,

the remainder, are but
chess pieces on a board
yet to be played.
when the rains come.

silent,
she feels tiny lacerations
in the corners below her eyes
where cardboard cheeks
can catch the tears that fall.

Audrey Howitt copyright/all rights reserved 2017

Posted for Poets United Pantry


Tuesday, February 21, 2017

The Silent Muse

silent among shards, she sits
scrawling messages
for the brave

the initial shock
of beneficence
mistaken in a shaded hallway, as

rudderless quips
f l o w
each tethered more closely around
the violence that spins
isolated
in a hurricane's eye

      waiting
for me to pick
any shard

and scrawl with her




copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017

Posted for Poets United Pantry

Thursday, February 2, 2017

colorblind



Morgue File
Lauramusikanski



grey is the color of limbo
sifting our lives on scales
where sand has no meaning

grey is the color of sin
left out in the snow
too long to know its shape

grey folds itself into
origami cranes of death
peace its only equivalent currency

can we wait for the sun to rise again
its light, a mitigation
a blurring of color

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017

Posted for Poets United Pantry and for dVerse OLN


Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Hospital Lessons



i learned about humility
and hope
watching those
who take pain away

watched their duty
shed grace
as easily
as lifting an arm

applying ice
to wounds new and old
so that this old body can rally
once again.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017


I am back from the hospital after a full hip replacement. And am amazed and grateful at the care I have and am receiving.



Sunday, January 8, 2017

January Afternoons




MorgueFile


light is long on short days.
our eyes are drawn to it
measuring out its warmth
stretching its path
on wooden floors
from one room to the next

i will its heat
inside me
warping planks
pulling up nails
transfixing eyes

late afternoons are like that
its just the nails
that I am not too fond of
anymore.

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017

Posted for Poets United Pantry

Sunday, January 1, 2017

New Year's Edits

cursors have a mind of their own
bounce from end to end
edit thoughts 
as i type blind

caffeine fix
not yet taken hold

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017

A bit of lightheartedness of this new year's morning.

Posted for Poets United