Purple flower

It was just a purple flower
pushing its head out of the
red clay, looking around
seeing clouds arranged in
God's signature

poem by Joe Howell
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W & P

She sits before the fire
of want and passion
thinking that the two are the same

wanting the passion
to burn inside of her

not knowing that the fire
of want will burn
her soul,

where no
passion
is.

poem by Joe Howell
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Walking Tears

I have spilled tears upon blood stained ground..
Smelled the stench
of burning flesh

Walked mountains
and
Valleys
Hunting those who can't be seen.

Left the war
to
return
home-to it.

For I have found
the worst wounds
can't be seen.

poem by Joe Howell
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Dr's Waiting Room

Silver grey hair
wrinkles like hiways on a map
a floral pattern on her dress
must have been made in 1932
she sat waiting

Silver white hair
wrinkles like ditches by the roadway
white t-shirt, blue suspenders-no belt
tan slacks
he sat waiting, with her

She reached over
kissed his cheek
he held her hand...
in their ninety's....
young lovers

poem by Joe Howell
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Cold Night-Hot Day

snow was blowing a white night
sitting in my car, guarding more then
against the cold, i fought the night

when my relief came, at midnight
what is this? he had no car
tempature reading four degrees

i offer him mine for the night,
just dropp me home-not far,
wake me up when you get off

he refused, said his wife would be by
later with some food, so i left him, in
the cold, winter white

poem by Joe Howell
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Childhood Dreams

Sunlight peeps thru closed curtains
like a sleepy child, nodding in - out
yet you sleep. the wave of pre-dawn
passion, renaming lost childhood dreams

I often wonder about some childhood friend,
how at the time we were pardners, for life
what has become of him? is he sitting
somewhere with a cup of coffee?

I touch your skin, to gently introduce you
to a new day, and you with a smile, say
'I was just dreaming about you' thus
leaving my thoughts of childhood friends

poem by Joe Howell
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