Poetry from J.D. DeHart

An old man goes up
and down the street,
casting his lure onto
the pavement, the rod
and reel angling
back and forth
It’s like muscle memory
or a nostalgic form
of motion contemplation
He smiles at me when I
ask if he has caught
anything yet.

Here is a Simple Test
you can administer any time you like.
Just add water, then vinegar.
Drop in a dash of pepper.
Now measure your sense of growing
impending doom.
Now compare that to a friend.
Ask them how they feel about the end
of the world.  Are they making plans?
Have they written anything down?
Some cultures don’t.  It’s like putting
your head in the sand.  It’s like pretending
you don’t have a head, that there is no
sand, that sand is not a thing.
Sand is a thing.  I have seen it.  I pick it out
of my clothing at the beach.
The beach is also a thing.  Here is a simple
test.  See how many people you trust.
Is that number dwindling?  Welcome to the
club, baby girl.
Plight of a Perfectionist
It is quite something indeed
to realize that all points
of life offer some
semblance of disillusionment
If you expect the ceiling
to be so high, people to putter
around kindly, and every
object to be made of marble.
Axis Point
Here I sit at the spinning
center of the universe.
Well, it’s just a room.
Conversations go on all
around me, but I sit listening
to my mind.  Wondering.
I am the spoke in this wheel,
except I really don’t think
I turn much of anything here.
Nice to Know at Last What Is Meant
Yes, it’s nice to become
acquainted with sound
and reason of other beings,
makes one feel like one belongs
to an invisible club –
the lines were always drawn,
but it’s helpful to know they
were not imagined.
It’s remedy for the sanity.
Finally nice to know what is
meant by all these chuckles,
to get the inside joke,
to speak the vernacular, try
it on like a glove on the tongue.
Practicing in the mirror
three times this morning alone.
There now, doesn’t that feel better,
or does it make matters worse,
now with a heavy mouth?