J.D. DeHart- Three Poems

The Eye, The Ear

he was a floating eye,

a waving ear, a tiny hand,

an awkward assemblage

of parts, as if composed

in a factory, resting in the fetal

position, remembering his

mother's natural sound,

tasting the burn of his empty

stomach and the nerves

of the raw demanding ride.

Teacup

I want to dip casually my tea

into a cup while others speak,

and perhaps that is affectation,

I want to collect these tiny cups,

a new hobby to fill myself with,

and trace their intricate designs

while I sip on herbs, soothing

and meditating on what passes

for thought and plan.

How to be a Gentleman

the passage reads about top hats

and tails, which makes me recall

a poem I heard once about a gent

on an old tin sign, tiny man emerging

from a mother, as if born

into his role as a robber baron,

a word from history class index cards,

the portrait of a cherub figure

enrobed in the odors of dying

cigars and bleating regrets.