Sunday, June 8, 2014

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.


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.

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