Elizabeth Howard

Elizabeth writes literary non-fiction, haiku, cultural rants, and Demand Poetry in order to forward the cause of beautiful writing. She teaches and speaks about the rhetorical impact of beautiful writing. A recent transplant to Connecticut, she calls London, Kansas City, and Iowa home.

Love is a Fingerprint

Marcus Smoot Combat Boots Love is a fingerprint

Love is a fingerprint Shared between Exactly two people– Nothing repeats. No coda, no lookalike No twin affair possible– Replicated or paraphrased– Later in life. My heart knows the Vinegar taste of you. I distinguish your laugh Among the rubble– One I discern only between Lines and across Miles and beyond uncounted graves. I am…

Leonard Nimoy’s Tree

Green Powered Car

Leonard Nimoy’s rumored penthouse in Vancouver Was easy to spot– a pin oak tree growing Atop the 19th floor at English Bay. Think about the inches nearest To you. What’s in your line of Vision? Mine: Target bags of plastic eggs A rubbery Fitbit, Telling me to move. Wood. The mantle carved, The Pictures framed, the copies…

You see a light & then another

Tragically Hip in Concert 2015

You started not to like me. At first you thought: It’s not him. It’s me. It’s the Chemo, the kids, the stress, my weight. Drugs ended. Hair grew back. Boobs rebuilt. Life leveled as Kids reached an easy age And yet you Couldn’t shake feeling that I’d Turned on you. One time I toured then Didn’t come home.…

10 Things I Love About You

Susan's Birdhouse

Grey hair in streaks, falling straight down. Friendship, translucent and strong as fishing line Books, stacks of texts, leaning. Paper birds, emerging from the wet, hempy mash Disagreement, and dissent. Chickens in the back 40. Raised boxes and their bees. Voice, a cool shaded pond. Bob. Tomorrow, empty canvas. — for Susan, Day 12, Poetry Month

An Ode to Frida, on a Monday

Frida

Across the Gulf from La Casa Azul, this Monday Late morning I am thinking of you, Frida. My sister’s just called and We Facetimed, her lying flat on her Back on her bed, phone in midair Me slurping lukewarm coffee in my Second cousin-in-law’s second home and the chatter Echoes off textured walls until we…

My Kind of America

Got to hit the road and try to find My kind of America. It’s out there Somewhere: not too crowded, A farmer’s market weekly At the time of day convenient for Both the workers and the farmers. People reading books. Bike lanes and Sidewalks and garden boxes Where brown and white Mix happily as a…

A fitting tribute to artistic madness

Troubadour Dali Museum

Dali broke with the Surrealist movement Cuz they didn’t like that he got famous. Jealous bitches be like “yo Sal, Babe, ain’t no way to make, like, Art and also Cash.” So he and Gala bought A boat and she ditched her Husband and they made out for France to Hide and read and Butter…

In Midair

fog airplane

Another meaty metal body Dangles in midair. Barely seems Suspended; perhaps the Fog holds up its mass and All the lives within. Autopilot disengaged we Route around the weather Rather, we watch La La Land On matchbook screens and Clutch our dancing coffees While Dan the Man takes Berth around a storm maker. I pull down the…

I wonder what JFK would have to say

I wonder what JFK would have to say If he, on the occasion of spring break, Found his flight cancelled. And thus re-booked for such an early a.m. Could not decline the logic of overnighting JFK Queens Radisson. Took the AirTrain to the hotel shuttle to The recently remodeled lobby and The second floor with…

Hold This Kitten, Would You?

Cat paws so cute.

Hold this kitten, would you, While I trick you into Reading poetry. Whoops! Now you’ve done it, Got yerself all intellectified With words in stacks. Poetry, you decry! Save me! Not those tangled up knotted Ideas in shapely stanzas! Look out! She scratches. Still Got her claws. They frown on Hacking off cat digits these days. Ahhh,…

End of Day – Day 3 – Poetry Month

Climbing Trees

End of day lends itself to Gathering ephemera. Unsorted, a day succumbs. It’s all detritus and last-minute noise Eardrums ringing, hippocampus Vibrating. The occurrence of Night surprising as a summer cold, As easily forgiven for the rest it gives. End of day, casting off aspersions Like stitches, or old dogs– What agreement did we conjure…

Everyday Compassion – Day 2 – Poetry Month

plastic bottle floating on lake litter everyday compassion

It’s true I have trouble with you, With everyday compassion, Because It means forgiving the person Who drops poop bags to the ground– Listening between sarcastic comments for Pain and fatigue. Everyday compassion the Off-gassed namesake of Life. I’ll have to be More than OK with rigid people– Got to See myself in them, to Assume…

April Fools – Day 1 – Poetry Month

April Fools Day Poem

No longer call it “Stranger danger”– Now let’s talk about the “Tricky adults” who chat up Eight year olds and their Baby brothers outside Emergency rooms (while a Mother’s ovary bursts)– Who beg for Help from babies. Two boys as vulnerable on a Bench as hatched Sea turtles on a seagull’s White sand buffet. Tricky adults who…