Tuesday, June 2, 2015

J.K. Durick- Three Poems

                    Much Ado
Sometimes small things dress themselves up
Like formal wear at a children’s party, or
A waltz gown and tux in church
Sometimes the simplest act looms large when
Dissected examined and discussed
The slightest of slights becomes epic, turns terrible
In the retelling, when the retelling takes hold
Is retold and retold
Sometimes the tiniest things make waves
In the bathtub of the day, the teacup of the moment
Sometimes minutes become weighty when each second
Is watched too closely
Sometimes the mouse is too large for the trap
The dirt too much for the broom
The light bulb too dim for the dark
The frame more interesting than the picture
Sometimes too little becomes more than too much
Fills mornings and evenings, fills afternoons and pages
Pages of one syllable at a time.

Usually leaves over time, a bit here, a bit there.
There’s Santa, of course, he usually goes early on,
An indicator of things to come.
And then there’s the first time our parents fail us,
Like our own Adam and Eve, we all leave the garden
Of childhood behind.
Then it becomes a matter of discovery, a puzzling mix
Of learning and loss. Certainty departs, vagueness and
Shades of meaning persist.
We discover our double selves, become performers in
A play we hide behind, think one thing, say another,
Do things, without being caught.
We discover our sexual selves, our needy selves, our
Greedy selves, the drunkard, glutton, petty thief. We
Change the subject, then hide the evidence.
We get good at it all, and begin to call it our lives. We
Accept things as they are, except sometimes when we
Become nostalgic for what we lost by just living.

I know what happens out there, read about it and watch it at times
On TV. There are floods and famine. There’s poverty and pollution;
Population and political expediencies. There are bombings and ballot
Issues.  There’s hunger and hurry. Insincerity and insecurity and insanity.
There are movements and militants and mutinies. There are leaks and
And losing sides. There are tyrants and tired old excuses. There’s sorrow
And suspects. There are earmarks and earthquakes and ethical questions.
There are victims and victories.. There are causes and conditions and
Conclusions. There’s yelling and yearning. There are negotiations and
Near misses. There are quandaries and quacks. There’s gore and there’s glory.
There’s horror and there are heroes. There’s killing and there’s kindness.
I know what happens out there. There are things to remember. There are
Things to forget. There are things to be proud of, and many things to regret. 

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