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David E. Howerton (email)


About the Poet:

David is a part time programmer and lives in the American River Canyon outside of Auburn CA. He has done some landscaping, sign painting, cooking, and made jewelry to pay the bills. He lives a rather quiet life with his wife and his bossy cat. He has three adult daughters and one granddaughter. His hobbies include type design, soapstone carving, walks in the woods, collecting dragons, and a growing library of Science Fiction



--Breaking the chains forged by those sleeping--
Some of these get strange
thought so but seldom found
any reason to suspect validity.
Got caught in a web of making
looking through cracks
behind closed eyes
twirling light
and the shapes beyond infinity.
Plastic spoons sitting on edge
turn slow
with evening breeze
breaking webs
creating spiraling twelve dimensional designs.
Shooting bits of paper
over banister.
Find a color in shades of lengthening gray.
Turn to tell
everyone's fled
leaving pieces of paper
blowing in motionless winds.
Whispers carried through shaking branches
tortured along curves
that are littered
in moon light
filtered by smog and acid rain.
Branches turn across dark flat space
lingering in corners where the children
haunt byways of myth
launching themselves into fractal spaces
outside space-time.
Forgot to fear those who growl sitting
outside of time. Feeding on any who travel
along paths through distances
leading before primal explosion.
Hear the flutes calling through half formed
that merge and break
in semi-fractal waves
cascading in twelve dimensions.
Keep away from dream and the cannibals
dwelling there sitting on thrones of bone
built of remains
ten billion worlds.
Take a drink of coffee
and sit under the bright blue sky
fake infinity, but safe.
Litter the present with blindfolds and spiritual handcuffs
that fetter imagination leaving only
those locked in sleep able to pull out of entropy.
Horrid wilting of soul comes
when darkness settles striking the unprepared
leaving naked souls exposed to cold ravings
dribbling from outside universes
seeping and dripping along paths worn in curves
of infinity.
Taking a picture at wrong night
when Moon is full and faint shadows form
from Mars
the shapes of greater dimensions come through
interfaces of mind that have lost tract
of stability that makes humanity not seek extinction.
Broken laying on a rock rooted to twelve dimensional
space-time our benefactor lays chained
tortured for giving humans that first tool
which could save humanity from defeat
at the onset of species adolescence. Almost forgot
by humanity and its foes it lays breathing in pain
waiting a time when galaxies are mostly dark
and invisible except to radio waves when fractal chains
weaken just enough to break free.
Lost in a old universe humanity will at last but briefly
inherit creation.
Struck with a dream fed
through nightmare
of those dreaming eons away
looking for a short cut
they break spirits
rupturing souls
that screaming whisper chants of breaking.
Even fairies hide far from those
that have been touched by the dreams of nightmare
shapes of darkness dwell around them
holding at bay any healing
that might turn
them back to roads leading up out of entropy.
Shouldering the forms that were written in diamond
woven thin seeking the sages
who sit on stone seats
forged from stone brought out of dead space-times
lingering memories of those who lived beyond our space
searching for those who locked away the sleepers
their former servants. Traces of memory held in
properties of spin and the color of a quark
leaning to dimensions perpendicular to our twelve.
Hints hide in the doorway leading out of space-time
beyond universes that glow
with life conceived on curves of time.

--being late--
Morning gets here quick
when you're up late.
Laying in bed at 2:30 AM
half asleep partly watching
you sit at computer
scowling wait
for tiredness to come.
Crawl under blanket finally
dogs on other side of ridge
call Moon.
At most two or three hours sleep happen
then eastern sky pales
morning's here
time to flee sleep
for a cup of tea
and the news.

--being in rage fighting the pits of sorrow--
Rage filled me leaving nowhere
without pain and hurt
couldn't help feeling sorry
having to crawl across
pits of fire through midnight
with freezing winds.
Turned a corner
if you'd call it that
seeping fire and molten metal
exactly where I had to crawl
heavy weight on shoulders
keeping me from lifting above knees
and a thousand years of guilt
for a crime I'd forgotten.
The rage just built and built
trying for expression getting none
spew foulness into blazing midnight
surrounded in fire
and none could hear leaving the frustration.


--during card game decide--
Playing cards
Seven or Eight PM
wasting an hour.
Dig through old letters
finding which
should be answered.
Place those books
you're pretty sure
won't be getting read
in a box
and take them
to a library book sale
so others can enjoy.

--Feb. 16 2003--
to young for knowing
treat all as a joke.
Damn them.
It's our anniversary
for Angelic and me it's important--
so they're ignored.
Getting Angelic happy--
so we're off to dinner.
Maybe with dinner
under candles some wine
latter a movie
to finish night out.
Another glass or two of wine
watching TV laying on floor
nibbling cheese
(covered by worn gray blanket)
we'll fall asleep.


library book sale day
Hey it's first Wednesday
of a new month
time to spend morning
at library book sale.
Have no idea
what you'll find
though I'm sure
you'll enjoy.
Maybe there won't be much
only a book or two
more likely you'll
pickup two or more dozen
you didn't even know you wanted.
Some months
there might be that one
you signed
as a gift
for a friend
now long dead.
Now it's come home.

listening to wind and walking
Sounds of wind
blowing in rain soaked
digger pines
harmonizes well
with traffic.
If don't miss
to many days
walking enjoyable,
to wind
blowing through
rain soaked leaves.
Paper Rainbow
Barking laughter
scribbled messages
on colored papers
folded into airplanes
tossed from bridges.
Watch rainbows spread
and crash
Enough pleasure in watching
you almost wish
you'd remembered your camera.
Back to laughing like an idiot
no one's close enough to hear.
Fold another dozen sheets
just to see a paper rainbow
flutter from bridge
past old mud slides
to pale summer river.
If you're lucky someone
by the water will have
a camera
to catch a rainbow
paperback realities
counters laden
dusty books
faded covers
search those
a few from
decades past
that remind how
grand they were
whole worlds
through adventure
in paperbacks
It's almost wasted
Do it, watch
colored pieces
of torn paper
flutter from
dirt crusted fingers.
Drift into street
stick to bumpers
and tires.
Being blown
up unto benches
where tired youth
have no clue.


Sometimes you want night


Toward night

you crawled

trying to hide

from sun.

To much of past

good and not

litter paths

haunted by sun

and summer heat.

Find some solace

in darkened room

instrumentals on radio,

no human voices

prep the trip underground.





What do you think?

you see I'm not the scarecrow.

Not knowing he can think.

Though you've heard

that's how others feel.

Showed them wrong


don't need to prove





Drink some coffee - went looking


Got off my big butt

went into town

drank an espresso.

Outside coffee shop

a hot afternoon

so many young ladies

in tight jeans

drawing attention.

Pull together

go back

get another cup of coffee;

shrug off thoughts

of ladies in tight jeans.

Sip coffee walk to car

other end of parking lot,

drive back

to small plot of woods

where most days

you won't see people.



dry day


All gone to seed

watch clear sky clouds

gone until fall.

Shades of brown-yellow

and grays

mingled in myriad colors of dust

June's here.

Taking toll sweat hard

forget to drink enough water

spend a couple days each week

with throbbing headache

wanting October to return.



early summer walking along your road


Walking on streets

you've not traveled

finding those trees


and on small bridges


of them being built by WPA

in the Nineteen Thirties.

Hear owls in old oaks

along creek and at bridges

slowly softening sound of creeks

that'll get quieter

with summer.



waiting for you to wake


awakening to your warmth

laying near me

fitting my body to yours


yes enjoying

your body so close

smelling your every scent

rubbing my hand

along your hip and thigh

listening to soft purr

of your breathing

just waiting

for you to wake up



used books


Wandering used bookstores

for books

finding a few

that remind

of youth.


those about poetry

and science fiction.

Once in a while

a math book pops up

differential equations

linear algebra


or some such.

Holding a new friend

with crinkled pages.



traffic song for poppies


Warm afternoon sitting

in my yard

watching traffic


mostly leaves

a melody for some afternoon

California poppies

poke up all over the yard

right down to blackberry patch

and out to old anise bush

even traffic

has a song

that harmonizes

with forest and field



three in the morning


together with you

laying in bed

watching stars

sink in west

fifty watt light bulb

just enough light

to read a crappy book

or write

a few poor poems

before going to sleep.

Three A.M.

comes to quick

hear a hawk outside

our bedroom window

being disturbed

in its sleep.

Wakes us up for a while

then almost against

our will sleep

returns for an hour or two

before the alarm goes off.



they need praise


Shinning when given praise

every bit helps molds

a future where talent

is appreciated.

Watching children play

enjoying burn off

of energy.

Praise, for little things

dividends earned

to adulthood.

Asking questions

always encourage

frequently solves

bouts with anarchy.



Day complete

Enough, lonely dog
sits waiting
for anyone to come play.
Smiles glad you've arrived
scratch ears pet head,
but most importantly
you'll throw the ball.
That time each day
when running is allowed


Damn, so much

Piled on quiet
went out sat
under tree. Listen
to birds
all over place.
Tired, drink beer
half asleep
nobody disturbs.
Like that
and seeing how I look
allowed to sleep
away afternoon.


Couldn't say

Glad to see
small visions
of you and me.
As drunken with living
search hearts
and souls.
Just like that no one
wants to remember what was.
Then visions still twinkling
each wanders into corners
where every ignored is happiness.


Coming home


One mile to go.

Doesn't seem far,
but from here
unsure how you'll make it.

One mile to go.

Stomach twitches
don't know anymore
did I put foot down?

One mile to go.


but a nap ends

Anyway the room kept
in shadow
didn't seem quite
so hot.
What with
it being
Not yet does sunlight
seep through window
allowing no relief
until dark.