Courbet at the Met


Awake a thousand women

as you move your hand

along this landscape.

Each woman is different,

each one a native

of this single country of me.


—©Lynna Howard, all rights reserved

Irrational Exuberance


Black Spanish lace along the river,

trees stripped of leaves as by a lover.

Comeliness of bare forms.


Drink winter sights and sip

draughts of blue spilling

over lips of young tree tops.

Satisfied, trundle home

through the cracking snow—

warm as houses in your soul.


Well-tuned to drain the winter sky,

drink and breathe the season by

which you first were born.

Steal from work a truer work

in winter-liquored sundowns.

Spend all ill-gotten gains at once,

go November-broke slaking thirst

on sun-streams and barmaid trees.


—©Lynna Howard, all rights reserved

All photos and text ©Lynna Howard. Appearance online as work samples is not to be construed as publication. All rights reserved. Do not copy nor distribute without the poet's permission. Thank you. Contact lynna.howard@mac.com


 

Photo above is Lynna in the 1990s


The Age of Ambiguity


"Now" wavers in Einstein's relativity,

"Here" stumbles in quantum theory,

and "I" will likely die by and by

in the science of the mind.

The Age of Ambiguity,

precisely unmeasured, finds

elucidation mathematically

and is peer reviewed,

then meets the nebulous, holy

swarm of consciousness purely

temporary that I share with the you

that is only momentary.


—©Lynna Howard, all rights reserved

Excerpt from Someone Must Love


Someone must love wild flax

that snuck into the garden

and blew that lavender-blue kiss.


Someone must love thy neighbor

and the damned cat

that craps in the yard not its own

and the dog that insists on being a dog.


—©Lynna Howard, all rights reserved