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Best Poems Written by Jim Howe

Below are the all-time best Jim Howe poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Seasonal Promises

a cloud passes
over the harvest moon
a politician's vow

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Hawaiian Pearl

Waters around the Arizona seethed,
burned with blood and oil
as Chaos gripped the Harbor.

Uncle Bud reeled about the deck.
His voice rising against the din:
“Abandon ship!  Abandon ship!
Abandon the goddamn ship.”

That afternoon
in a makeshift medical camp
he died from shrapnel wounds.

My grandmother told me years later
that he had saved others.

Fire, flesh, and smoke dissolve into the sweep
of a larger panorama
when volcanoes formed these isles.

In Iowa, the family gathered at church
to celebrate with a brunch
the first Sunday of Advent.

Father MacDonald announced the attack.
People scurried home to huddle around radios
that crackled with static.

Forty years later,
a fine ash from Mount St. Helens passed
over Grandma’s grave-side service.
And she rests next to her son.

Her mother-of-pearl music box,
the one Bud had given her,
almost kept her company.

But she willed it to me.
I placed it on a shelf by her picture in the living room.

It still plays.

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The Poetry Store

I’m looking for a simple rhyme that works
in something complicated, dry, and deep.
A masterpiece without too many qwerks.
Something alive and tart that I might keep.

I’m sorry sir we’re out of simple rhymes.
We have a shipment coming in from Prague.
Give me your address.  I’ll send them soon.
There’s some off beat slanted rhymes in aisle five.

I think I’ll check my files and drawers back home.
Amazing how a simple rhyme gets lost
among the stuff we need to make a poem.
Pick out a few and let me know the cost.

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Longing For Absolution

He spent the night seeking the smoke of the lucky
for the things once known:
the warm bed, the place to shower, the cup of hot coffee
and the things unknown.
He wandered deeper into the city where the burdens get heavy.
He found himself on the empty streets that bled their own longing.

For the things once known:
the green or brown bottles, the smell of the boiling tar 
from when he was the roofer in the black shoes
drank the cheap wine, wore the pee-soaked pants
scavenged food from the garbage bins
pushed the woven wire shopping carts
from supermarket parking lots
until the wheels fell off in the downtown February slush
the concrete sidewalks, the sad empty streets
the granite walls standing erect to dam the pending flood.

And things unknown:
The Oval Office furniture
the texture of the suit coat of the New York banker
having children, tasting caviar
hunting the water buffalo in Kenya
running the dairy farm
cutting the umbilical cord of the first child
owning the ranch style home in Wisconsin.

On the empty streets:
the urban wasteland from which all have fled the imminent disaster.
He found the last carton of smokes in the abandoned corner market.
He smoked them all one by one.
He gazed through the window to see the face 
of the eternal woman on the billboard of desire.
Yes
she had her own longing.

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The Adjective As a Detective

Lieutenant Adjective snoops
about the crime scene seeking
forensic evidence to catch
the prime suspect
with a warm clue to match
the DNA in a way that puts
the suspect there
at the time of the murder.
The sleuth modifies
his perspective by staring
at the spot on the wall 
upside down sideways,
up close and at a distance.
He’s tenacious.
As a qualifier par excellance
he will close the case
with unkempt elegance
and with the usual dire consequence.

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Leftovers

O circus, circus 
the ox and his Fergus. 
The whale took a bite of the moon. 
The carnivore gasped to see that chomp.
And the pig civilized the baboon.

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Well Sprung

When I was seven I felt the urge  
to capture an enchanted being.  
 
I caught him in the gentle grasses  
of our side yard.  
 
Cupped in my hands  
he waited,  
his antennae gathered signals from distant worlds,  
his cold eyes measured 
the texture of my skin,  
his armor sparkled 
in the shadows of my fingers,  
his legs were unanchored tent poles.

I held out my hand  
straight as a diving board.  
He sprang  
with power and grace --  
a green arc of parabolic escape.  

He was blind to what he left behind:  
a bonfire in my chest,  
a salty koan,  
the memory of a trinket  
I had to let go.

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The Playground

now he’s a cow
boy

taming the monkey
bars

becomes light 
headed

sees the dragon
fly

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Acrostic Question

Bread can nourish earthly dreams
Regale failing flesh
Eventually to join the crux that, with elán,
Allows the grape to ripen to dull
Death - a necessary

Acidic action to save,
Not
Deny, the vintage of the gutsy merlot.

What modest wafer would right
Injustice and what drink dare
Nourish the freshly born,
Even though earthly dreams seem undone?

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Following Them Home

Bars are letting out
Last El to south Chicago
Unrelenting rain
Eyes dripping with pure regret
Screaming steel guitar cries