1969 MY FIRST GRADE FIELD TRIP TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN HOME SPRINGFIELD ILLINOIS TOMB MY FIRST GRADE CLASS CHIOR WAS INVITED TO SING CIVIL RIGHTS HYMNS MARIAN ANDERSEN HYMNS SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE A MOTHERLESS CHILD THIS WAS AFTER MARTIN LUTHER KING ASSASSINATION SADLY MY IMPOSTER JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY MY STALKER MY IDENTITY ATTEMPTED TO IMPERSONATE ME AFTER BREAKING IN MY HOME FOR GARGANO EXPOSED TO PARTS OF MY MENTAL HEALTH JOURNAL GROWING IN CHICAGO DURING CIVIL RIGHTS RIOTS FIRST GRADE MY IMPOSTER WAS ACTUALLY BORN IN 1969 I WAS IN FIRST GRADE SINGING MY HEART OUT FOR FREEDOM IN AMERICA NO WAY A JAMAICAN STALKER COULD POSSIBLY BE ME I WAS SHOCKED AT HER GAUL HER OBSESSIONAL HATRED RAGE FOR ME AS A WRITER THIS BEGAN HER IMPERSONATING ME
gray skies drenching rain
luscious colors in hiding
until the rainbow
you lean back
like you always did
and blow
wearing your bell bottom slacks
cool
just like you always were
I hear you now
maybe I always did
I just didn't know
it's all I ever wanted to do
paint a picture
lean back
see
feel
and hear the music
so please understand
I'm not trying to be you
I'm just trying
© Whit Howland 2019
Golden belt of corns,
Abraham Lincoln home in
State of Illinois
A block off the river
Just a step from the gutter
A bar that hadn't barred me, yet
I walked in for the first time
And knew I'd come home
A Lucy moment, lucid
In Cairo, Illinois
River town of bars and churches
One on every block
Like a chess match from hell
A queen in every bar
A bishop right next door
Pawns on every stool
Knights galore
I was the king of Cairo
My dive, The Castle
My move, fool's mate.
4/15/14
If you are not from the area, you probably don’t know
about this town which is a suburb of Chicago.
It is located to the southwest of the Windy City.
With Morgan Park, it shares its northern boundary.
Blue Island thrives in the heart of Cook County.
The people who live there are proud of this little city.
The town has a long and interesting history.
Due to the discovery of rich deposits of clay,
Blue Island produced tons of bricks in an earlier day.
There is something most people don’t understand.
The village is neither blue, nor is it an island.
However, this spot is bountiful with a lot to give.
Blue Island continues to be a great town to live.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
Your state stands as a jewel outshining all the rest.
There is poetic talent many say is the best.
You have all displayed great words, lines, verses, and phrases.
Each new presentation impresses and amazes.
Your works have provided very stiff competitions
when compared to many other places’ submissions.
Talented writers are found everywhere I may go.
From Springfield, Joliet, or the town of Cicero,
All the way to the windy city of Chicago.
All our site’s members from Illinois are ones to know.
They are counted in numbers that continue to grow.
Monmouth, Illinois
Wyatt Earp was born right there
Can that be OK?
As he stood paper cup in hand by the drinking fountain on a train
somewhere south of Kankakee, miles from Chicago,
a quiet, pensive, older man was getting harangued by a loudmouthed,
blowsy, beer drinking, inconsiderate, disheveled and overweight woman.
Aka, his wife.
She finally shut her mouth after he exploded with,
“get your face out of mine, yo breath smells like
you been eatin camel dookey for a week!”
The laughter from the old men in the club car was deafening,
so she just sat down and cried all the way to New Orleans.
This narrative for the comma contest is a childhood memory I observed riding the Illinois Central’s “City of New Orleans.” Circa 1955.
Food 4 less, food co. Illinois
“Hello mayo”, yelled the yogurt, "it is yuletide!"
“Do you need organic greens and cheese by your side?”
Mayo replied“I will rather cruise with ketchup and… vanilla,”
yogurt asked… “ is vinaigrettes and veggie still in this villa?”
...Rotisserie chicken realized it was time… to roast
Salsas and spinach felt, “it’s time we left this colourful coast”
Packaged deli meats made mention of… "it’s Christmas time"
All condiment cried, “we want to stay some more… thyme! “
Quincy, Illinois: 1962
long before Barack Obama
Those days my father toiled in Quincy,
two weeks, no more,
he said he saw no blacks, except for
two young ladies busing dishes.
Daisy badges on their uniforms
announced their names,
their years of service.
He still remembers how
through all his meals
he wanted to stand
and shout:
Where do you live?
What do you do
for recreation?
Donal Mahoney
The heat hung on the spiders webs
tinsel from tree limbs
taunt between gargantuan boles
the golden hour lay garland on silken floss
with its intrepid arachnid host.
Dream weaver, fate Mother, Earth balancer
She dances.
A minuet brown bit suspending itself
between heaven and earth.
Across immense spans of grassy knolls
where the Cahokia sleep in the mounds of Kings.
She dances.
Dream weaver, fate Mother, Earth balancer
Centering the spinning Earth, the Cosmos…
harmonizing harp home of the Mother
caller of the four corners
She dances.
the bank's,a glitter
fithered in the realm of thought
must have forgot mine
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