Poetry from J.D. DeHart


Published at Poet Community


Sickly sweet

the swirl of today’s news

sitting on my empty

stomach. Syrupy

on my lips and on

the roof of my mouth.

An ideal that when tasted

does not blend so well,

overstaying its welcome.

Sucked through a straw,

then spat back out,

better left roadside alone.

No Confusion Intended

Published at Poet Community


Sorry to say, regretfully,

I am not the man I thought

I was, and neither (can I say) do you probably

think I am.


The bio is all wrong; sent

from the wrong file,

written with what seemed

(now does not seem)

a witty intent, scribbled

days or years ago when

all seemed to make sense.


Now the words do not line

up, I am not sure what I

meant, and (worst of all) I

never intended harm (but

then maybe the words are

as innocuous as I believed

them one day to be).



or Respectfully.


A Home in the Area

Published at Poet Community


Yes, it’s down the street,

and you can even visit.

The attic holds the secrets

of grandmother’s past.

Who knew she wrote, and who

knew she had such a tongue

for slander?

Many of the photos have been

chopped to signal ancestral


Outside, a child is skipping.

Do not look closely, or you may

be taken back to the former

you. The one who used to sigh

and feel relief.


Patchwork Rainbow

Published at Poet Community


This moment is the one

where we know there is a connection point,

a constellation of experience.

One must simply connect the dots,

appreciating the nuances of shade.

No one can be put on pillars anymore,

the truth always comes out,

the messiah figure with the drug problem.

Today’s crime is an expression

of yesterday’s common practice

and the time words became crazy,

life coming in sudden manic motions,

can be traced back like heritage

to the unkind words of a father

or the sullen face of a stranger,

a harsh word wandering like a stray cat.

When the rainbow showed up, the stories

say it was a promise, but that was images

and eons ago. That was at least two

legends removed from certainty.

Now the main character in the story

has begun to suspect his plight as a picaresque

plot-plodding figment and he knows

the last page approaches,

a cliff on cleverly bound paper.

The narrative can no longer be trusted,

just like patchwork, like a quilt language,

or the way light moves faster, blending colors,

Joyce saying, Let’s do something new



Published at Poems and Poetry Blog


She was crooked teeth and rottenness

masquerading as the promise of a lifetime

disguised as a bright bride

and you thought you saw all of her

When she spoke, her voice came with razors

pricking little insults

and be glad now she found another river

to float down, to be free of that sound

At the time, seeing her through dull eyes,

really seeing only windmills, a belief in love

for love’s sake before growing.