One Sentence Poems

Howie Good Beach in Winter Nothing here, and no one, only seashells and pebbles and pretty ferry lights casting shadows that form a sentence. According to climatologists, Howie Good is getting warmer.

Howie Good Ready, Aim “Shoot me in the chest!” Mussolini demanded, and the firing squad did before he could take it back. Howie Good wrote the first half of this one sentence poem on April 28, 1945, and the second half exactly 100 years later, on April 28, 2045.   

Howie Good Sunday Portrait Thirty-odd years ago, long before you became this short, chubby guy working bagging groceries at the Stop & Shop, your parents gave you a name you wouldn’t have ever chosen for yourself, and which isn’t really why you’re wearing a Tom Brady #12 white-on-blue NFL jersey. Howie Good wears a Tom […]

Howie Good Rhymes With Symphony It’s the sound the wind makes when it doesn’t make any sound, sort of like a stick figure man just gliding along the long line of the horizon, a rare thought growing invisibly out of the top of his head. Howie Good hands you a nickel, he hands you a […]

Howie Good Hiking Mount Severance The higher we climbed, the hastier the sun became, & the dry, hacking cough of traffic still reached us despite our being besieged by trees, the leaves outlined in gold & acetylene, & wavering like the pale-skinned shadows of half-created things. Howie Good‘s previous books of poetry include The Complete […]

Howie Good September There was a crimson hearse (it isn’t just some theory), & before we could even react, summer had disappeared, a parabola of dribble wiped from a baby’s chin. Howie Good co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely.  

Howie Good 299 792 458 m / s The victims were granted an unconditional right to scream, their shrill operatic voices startling birds off roofs & ledges, & then light began to lose speed, & from my seat on the train, I saw Jupiter’s four largest moons, wildflowers flicker & fade, walls of faces alternating […]

Howie Good On Being Asked, ‘Where Do You Get Your Ideas?’ From the bird in the title of an old Beatles song, from the man in a long, black coat standing on the threshold & pointing with a stained finger, from an illustrated catalog of Swedish porn films, from the smoke-gray coyote trotting through the […]